


Dark Sight

by Maplesyrup



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Edwardian, Alternate Universe - Steampunk, Confusion, Demonic Possession, Demons, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Original Character(s), Romance, Rumbelle - Freeform, Rumbelle Christmas in July, Rumbelle Christmas in July 2016, Some Fluff, Steampunk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-23
Updated: 2016-07-23
Packaged: 2018-07-26 03:57:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 16
Words: 27,407
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7559194
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Maplesyrup/pseuds/Maplesyrup
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rumbelle Christmas In July. The prompt was: steampunk, romance, rumbelle, confusion</p><p>Belle French, highly-regarded librarian, runs into Rhys Gold, a notoriously reclusive author. Their fates become inextricably linked as she has a chance encounter with a very dangerous being.</p><p>2018 Rumbelle Happy Ending Award Winner - Best Historical AU</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MarieQuiteContrarie (SeaStar1330)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SeaStar1330/gifts).



> For the lovely MarieQuiteContrarie: It was a pleasure to write this for you. You were a delightful giftee, and I hope you enjoy this weird little jaunt!

[ ](http://photobucket.com/)

_1906_

“Miss Belle, you might want to have a word with the young man at the corner table upstairs. He’s been hogging our first-edition of _Le Jolie Mechanique_ for hours.”

Belle looked up from the book she was analyzing, removing and closing the tiny telescoped goggles perched on her nose and sighing. Her assistant peered at her from the other side of the glass doored room, one hand close to the door’s intercom.

She moved to her side and pressed a button. “Thank you, Clerk, I’ll see to him.”

“Very good, Miss.” He teetered back upstairs, leg hinges creaking softly, and Belle reminded herself to have her mechanic look at his workings. Since she’d rescued the poor robot two years previous, he never bothered to tell her when he needed maintenance.

She supposed it was old habit for him, but really, maintenance was necessary for proper function. Clerk’s previous master was quite the horrid individual, leaving Clerk to rust in the garden if he so much as dropped an egg. He’d become used to oxidizing and verbal abuse, but Belle wouldn’t stand for it.

She frowned a little at the memory of the first time she saw him. He never spoke to her, just tilted his long, metal head at her in that way of his, and touched the tip of his enormous black-lacquered steel top hat in greeting. He was a gentle soul, if robots could be said to have souls, and Belle firmly believed this one did.

When she saw the abuses he suffered under the odious Mr. Nottingham’s hand, she’d made it her mission to rescue him, by any means necessary.

‘Any means’, turned out to be her prized first-edition of R. Gold’s _Second Sight_ , a copy she’d had since her teen years, and dinner. It pained her to part with it, (and to share a very _hands-on_ meal with Nottingham) but part she had, and she’d counted it a win. She had read the book enough to have practically memorized it, but still. It was the last book her mother gave her, Belle’s favorite of his entire body of fantastical fiction, and the knowledge of its loss hurt.

She pushed the heavy thoughts away as she stretched out the muscles in her lower back that protested her previously hunched posture. Clerk seemed much happier with her, in her library, where he could organize to his heart’s content, and be safe. That was most important.

If in his freedom, he’d acquired the interesting habit of snarking at some of her patrons, well, it was to be expected, and it never got too bad.

She closed _Volubilis Tenebris_ , the book she’d been working on, with a snap, and hissed briefly in pain. One of the pages nicked her forefinger and she sucked at the small wound, annoyed with herself for forgetting gloves. She shelved the book, and made her way upstairs.

Belle efficiently disposed of the loitering young man. He’d complied easily enough and she assured him if he were willing to check out the book, and this time, pay his late fines, he’d be welcome to read it there to his heart’s content.

Having done that small duty, she turned towards the circular desk in the middle of the expansive room, and took a second to look at the surroundings familiar to her as her own name, glittering in the afternoon sunlight streaming in through the windows, and landing on the shelves and tables.

The library, named Storybrooke for the river that used to run the lands before it was fully settled, was a family heirloom, promised to her by her mother on her eighteenth birthday and transferred into her sole ownership once she’d graduated from University at the age of twenty-four. She’d dual-specialized in Literary Sciences and Restorative and Mechanical Alchemy, graduating with high honors and licensure from the International Cooperation of Erudite Chemiques, or ICEC for short.

Now thirty years of age, she’d become the city’s most sought-after librarian; folks came from all corners in search of anything from a good recipe for propulsion oil, to the best combination of flammable gasses with which to propel their airships,  and everything in between. If it was written into a book, Belle had it.

Occasionally she’d even get a customer seeking something more…elusive. And that was what the Basement was for. 

The most valuable and rare books collected by her family over the centuries lived in the Basement, where the humidity, and patronage, were very strictly guarded. She and she alone had the key; and the Accepted Perusal List was as short as her little finger.

When anyone came to her library and wished to see the Basement, they either needed to have a damn good reason to get into the Basement along with the backing of a member of the ICEC council. Not even Clerk was normally allowed in there without her.

It contained the works known by all in her circle as having the necessary details for the … darker areas of morality. Things like creating a robot with a living soul (like Clerk), replacing necessary mortal organs with mechanical parts, and a respectable volume of information on blood workings and alchemical magic, with a tidy little round off of their world’s more magical mysteries, such as sprites, demons and the like.

Those particular books were dangerous at best when in the right hands. And in the wrong ones … well, Belle preferred not to think on that.

A scuffle near the front revolving doors caught Belle’s attention. She turned to see what was causing the commotion and saw Clerk and a gentleman in some sort of standoff. Clerk had his arms extended in what appeared to be a blockade and the gentleman looked quite perturbed.

“Contrary to what appears to be your belief, Sir, you can’t just bash your way into the library and demand to see the Basement.”

Belle hurried over, her skirts swishing furiously, mirroring her alarm at Clerk’s tone.

“What seems to be the trouble, Clerk?” She looked to the man. “Sir? How can we help you?”

The gentleman looked at her for a moment, his mouth slightly agape, before collecting himself and leveling a thunderous look at her in turn. She thought he looked quite handsome, despite the aggravated expression.

He was older than her, not terribly tall, but even so, she was tiny enough to come to just about his shoulder. His hair was long, brushing against the stiff collar of his black brocade jacket, and the brown strands were threaded liberally through with silver. Lovely brown eyes, currently quite cold, but still lovely. A thin mouth sat below a very pointed, intriguing nose.

“I need to see the Basement,” he growled, his voice dangerously pitched and far too attractive; a lovely Scottish brogue that made the words he spoke sound caressed.

She wasn’t moved. This was the Basement they were talking about, after all.

Belle crossed her arms, narrowing her bright blue eyes. “Do you? And what, may I ask, are you hoping to find there?”

The man’s scowl deepened and his voice grew low, a hint of warning creeping in. “That’s none of your business, Madam. Kindly remove your lapdog and give me the key.” They stared at each other, neither willing to budge, until Clerk chimed in in his usual snarky way.

“It’s ‘Miss’.”

The man turned, surprise dislodging the dark expression on his face. “I beg your pardon?”

Clerk tilted his long head. “It’s ‘Miss’. Not ‘Madam’. No doubt in your backwaters, you must expect every woman of legal age to give herself freely to address her thus,” he mused aloud, ”but in our city, and especially in this library, we treat the ladies with a bit more respect.”

He took a decided step to the right, ending in front of Belle. “So, please, address her accordingly, if you must address her at all.”

Belle wanted to scold him, but she was quite pleased at his defensive display, and besides, what right had the man to barge into her liber mundi and demand access to the most carefully-guarded of literary spaces?

The man’s mouth fell open once more, and his eyes flitted from Clerk to Belle and back. He closed his mouth after a moment, and Belle could practically hear him grinding his teeth in frustration. 

He turned without a word, and pushed his way back out the brass revolving doors, leaning heavily on a cane, Belle noticed. Clerk stood with her and they both watched as he climbed with practiced grace into what apparently was _his_ shining white-and-brass Thomas Flyer, using his cane to press the necessary floor switches before gliding the vehicle smoothly away from the curb and into the mass of beings and autos clogging the road.

“Well. That was interesting,” Belle said, looking to Clerk.

“Yes, Miss, it was.”

“You were quite rude to him.”

“Terribly sorry, Miss.”

She snorted. “No, you’re not.”

“… Not in the slightest, Miss.”

Belle sighed. “Come on then, back to work with us.” She moved to the circular desk, pulling out a notebook that contained her notes on the book she’d been analyzing in the Basement. “Somehow I don’t think that’s the last we’ve seen of him, Clerk.”

“I dearly hope you’re mistaken, Miss Belle.” Clerk said as he creaked past her, on his way to his shelving duties.

“We’ll see. Oh, Clerk?” She looked up at him. “Go and see Billy down the street at afternoon break, have him give you an oiling and charge it to my regular account.”

“Very good.” He touched the tip of his hat before moving off, and it was as close to a smile as Belle knew she’d get from the steel-set features of her robot. No matter how she insisted, she never could get him to call her simply “Belle”. She turned back to her notes with a fond shake of her head.

Belle had been working on that particular book for days, trying to authenticate what the original owner had claimed was a coded secret for greater harnessing of the elements, particularly in relation to light and darkness.

Unfortunately, when Belle tried to contact him, she received a letter stating the original owner had gone mad and died from some mysterious affliction, and was therefore unavailable to speak to regarding the authenticity of the book. She’d nearly given up, but something was nagging at her to continue, so she kept at it. She spent some time reworking her notes, and clarifying some of her own points before her eyelids began to grow heavy and her head was lolling on her neck.

She pulled herself upright with a start when Clerk shuffled over to her and let her know it was closing time. He’d seen to the necessary booting-out of wayward patrons, handled the afternoon’s checkouts, and had Billy give him an oiling as promised.

“And now it’s time to go home.” One robotic hand patted hers gently.

‘Home’ was their generous set of rooms on the topmost floor of the library. There were lovely windows overlooking the city, and just enough room for the two of them. It had belonged to her mother when she was the librarian and Belle kept the touches of her wherever she could.

Belle yawned and nodded, noting through the glass doors at the front that it was nearing twilight. She pulled a pocket watch out of the breast pocket of her uniform and gasped. It had gone eight and she was supposed to have closed two hours ago! 

Well, who cared. It was her library, after all, and Clerk had come to fetch her when the day had wrapped itself up. No harm in being open an extra while.

“Would you prep the Velo, please? I need to see if Billy is around and handle the bill first.”

“Of course, Miss. Would you like me to drive? You seem rather tired.” He tilted his head at her.

“I am, but I’ll manage, thank you.” Belle smiled as he walked away, the creak in his joints gone and his steps more fluid and sure. She’d have to give Billy an extra tip when she paid him.

After locking up the notes and collecting her bag, she made her way to the VeloCycle out back, reaching it as Clerk was tweaking a minor part. “Everything alright with her?” She asked on a yawn before reaching down to button her skirt around her legs at the bottom, suiting it for riding the contraption. Why was she so tired all of a sudden?

He tapped one spindly finger against one of the brass pipes leading from the small engine. “Yes, I believe so. Seemed to be a loose bolt, but she’s back to rights.”

“Lovely.” Belle settled her bag on the front basket, buckling it in lest it blow out from the speed, and pulled out her riding goggles, fitting them over her eyes. She gave the kickstart a strong push and the engine came to life, purring like a mechanical cat. Clerk settled in the lower back seat she’d had made just for him, and buckled himself in as well.

“Ready?" 

“Ready, Miss.”

She turned one handlebar and the cycle shot forward, the jolt never failing to almost unseat her, and they sped into traffic.

Belle maneuvered them through the streets, narrowly avoiding the other autos and squeaking past larger trolleys on the city lines. The little VeloCycle packed quite a punch, and she always loved feeling the wind past her face. She imagined it would be a similar feeling to taking a dirigible to other countries.

As learned as she was, she still had never left their city, moving from home, to University, to the library. She’d viewed the stereoscope exhibits, of course, and marveled at the wonders they showed, and she devoured every book and newspaper she could get her hands on, naturally. So while she had great theoretic knowledge of the world, her actual experience was sadly limited. 

Caught up in her musings and her unusual fatigue on the way to Billy’s shop at the edge of the city, Belle failed to notice as her eyelids drifted downwards, and the Velo cycle meandered dangerously into traffic.

She heard a shout, and jolted fully awake, pulling sharply to the left and hitting a rather wide pothole the road. The shimmying started immediately after, in the same pipe Clerk had been checking before they left. The bolt wriggled loose, and the tiny ping! of the nut as it hit the street was drowned in the backfire of the small engine as the pipe tilted dangerously downwards, cutting off the expulsion of fumes.

The engine shook and the rattling finally reached Belle’s hands as they gripped the handlebars, causing her to look down with a start before pulling her eyes back to the road.

“Clerk!” She called, turning her head back a little and hoping he could hear above the wind rushing past their ears. “We might need to—!”

She was cut off mid-sentence as the engine thundered and then exploded, the shockwave knocking her off and throwing her into the street. Her body hit the ground, pain bursting through her as she rolled over several times before stopping, her limbs under her and her face pressed to cold, wet cobblestone.

Something thick and warm was oozing into her eyes and she wanted to wipe it away, but found her arms wouldn’t cooperate. How strange, she thought. A burning pain lanced through one side as she lay there. Her vision flickered in and out, and the world grew hazy with pain as she heard shouting all around her.

Somehow, Clerk’s voice registered and she tried to call out to him, to see if he was all right, but blackness was pulling at her, dragging her into its depths and she hadn’t the strength to keep it at bay.


	2. Chapter 2

Something blessedly cold pressed against Belle’s forehead, drawing her out of the blackness.

She cracked her eyes open and saw the long, metal face of Clerk, spindly fingers pressing a wet cloth to her face. 

He’ll rust, her mind worried, and she tried to tell him, but could only manage a weak croak. His head shifted slightly and tilted when he noted she was awake.

“Welcome back, dear friend.” Her eyes welled with tears at his words. Belle tried to reach for him but found she was unable, as if her muscles were leaded to the mattress. Her tears turned frustrated and scared and she whimpered her distress.

He turned abruptly and stood, and she heard his joints creak as he moved.

_But… he just… Billy just…_

She tried to follow him with her eyes, but a wave of dizziness washed over her, making the room  whirl dangerously and she felt ill, bile rising at the back of her throat. Her uncooperative muscles reacted instinctively and she rolled to the side to vomit, fully expecting to make a mess on the floor and not caring, but a bowl was thrust under her mouth just in time. 

She emptied the meager contents of her stomach and collapsed, half hanging off the bed, before a gentle pair of hands coaxed her back to laying prone.

A strong hand slid under her head and pulled her up a little, and a glass was pressed to her lips. She opened them and tasted cool water, swallowing automatically.

“Drink, but slowly. It will help.”

The voice was vaguely familiar, but the hand grasping the glass was not metal or spider-like, but human flesh. Her eyes flicked up to see a black sleeve attached to a jacketed shoulder, and a stoic-looking male face hovered above it all.

Belle’s eyes widened in recognition. She stared, the water forgotten for the moment. as her addled-mind tried to make sense of what she was seeing. The hand holding her head laid her gently back down, and she thought she felt it swipe a hair off her forehead as it moved away.

It was the same man who’d come to her library demanding to see the Basement. What was he doing here?

“You?” She managed to speak, though her voice felt odd, sounding foreign to her ears, like it hadn’t been used in a while.

The face moved and she recognized it as a nod, and her brain remembered it was a man, not just a hovering face.

“Yes, me.” She thought he sounded amused.

“Clerk.” 

The face frowned, then relaxed as he understood what she meant. He turned on a stool, apparently having sat at some point, and called over his shoulder. 

“She wants you, robot.”

Belle heard the familiar creak of Clerk’s hinges as he came to her side and almost found a laugh as his reply reached her.

“I have a name, sir. Kindly use it, as I’ve said seven times before.”

She heard the man scoff as he moved away to give room. “I will when you use mine in return.”

Familiar spindly fingers clasped one of her hands gently as he sat on the vacated stool. “Hello, Miss.” 

She looked at his face, feeling a rush of affection before confusion returned.

“Clerk, what happened?”

He pulled back his hand and looked away from her. She knew him well enough to know that even though his face was immovable metal, he felt ashamed. Of what, though?

“It’s my fault, I fear.” He flexed his fingers, layering them together and apart, his personal nervous gesture. “I saw you were quite tired and didn’t insist on driving. We had an accident, Miss. The pipe I was checking when we were leaving burst as we were riding. I thought I had fixed it, but I was mistaken.”

Her brain was beginning to pull pieces from the scattered files of her memories, and she recalled leaving the library, cycling into the street, feeling strangely tired, and then—nothing. Except the pain, she was remembering the pain, and her body began to ache in response to the memory.

“How badly was I hurt?” She asked him. She wondered if that’s why she couldn't move well. How bad had it been? Clerk wouldn’t look at her, nor would he answer.

“You have all your limbs, Miss French, rest assured of that.” The man answered for him. “The damage was bad bruising, but your head took most of it. Nothing broken, though I’m not sure how. You did sustain a concussion, however.” 

She pulled her eyes away and looked up at the ceiling. Not her ceiling, she realized. Not a ceiling she recognized at all.

“Where am I?”

The man spoke again. “You’re in my house, Miss French. You’re safe.”

She gave a pained laugh. “That’s why your ceilings are so odd.” She giggled and felt as if her wits left her. “It’s not my ceiling.” The giggle caught, turning into a fit, and ending only when she began to cough from lack of breath. The cough turned into gagging and she felt the man’s hand suddenly slide under and around her neck, lifting her as if she weighed nothing and propping her up on thick pillows.

“Just breathe. Do you need to vomit?”

She shook her head, letting out a small pained whimper as her vision spun again.

“Is the room spinning?”

She nodded weakly, closing her eyes. “Oh god, make it stop, please.” Her hands came up and scrabbled at his jacket lapels, trying to find an anchor from the tilting world.

She felt his arms slide around her and pull her close, his warm breath on her cheek and his soft, gravelly voice in her ears.

“It’s alright, I’ve got you. It will pass.”

She was pressed against a handsome man she didn’t know, her face tucked into his neck and his spicy, woody scent in her nostrils, but couldn't bring herself to care. He was the only thing keeping her from being pulled apart as the world tilted. She wouldn't have cared if he were a troll.

She was also in a nightgown, and stiffened at the realization.

“Breathe, Miss French. Just breathe, like I told you.” One of his large hands smoothed up and down her back, soothing her. “You’re alright.”

She tried to focus on deep, even breaths and found herself coming somewhat to rights as she kept it up. After a few long minutes she was able to speak clearly for the first time since she woke.

“It’s passing.”

“Good.” She heard a gentle smile in his voice. “Let’s get you resettled, hm? Keep your eyes closed.” He moved her back slowly, and once she was propped against the pillows again, he allowed her to open her eyes.

The room had stopped moving and she felt relief course through her. “Oh, god, that was awful.” He chuckled and she felt a twinge of embarrassment at her words. “Not—not you helping me, I’m very grateful for that, sir.”

“I know what you meant.” His wry smile made her stomach do an unfamiliar little flip and she unconsciously brought a hand to her middle. Looking around cautiously, lest she dislodge her wits again, she took in the room around her, realizing she was in some kind of solarium.

Sunlight streamed through the leaded glass and across the black and white marble floor, every surface around her covered in different kinds of mechanical treasures, all shining like new. Flowering plants dotted the room here and there, bright colors lending cheerfulness to the somewhat museum-like feel of the room.

Her fingers itched to wander through his collection and see what things she could find to learn about.

“You’re quite the collector, sir.”

He looked around dispassionately. “I suppose.” His demeanor had changed quickly after he released her to sit back against the pillows. Gone was the gentle warmth from when he’d cradled her against his chest and kept her there while her senses settled. Now he was back to being a stranger.

Belle couldn't fault him. After all, she was obviously an intruder in his home and despite how gracious it was for him to have taken her there, he probably wanted his home back to himself. She wanted to gather her things and take Clerk and go, but wasn’t sure how to do so without offending him.

No hope for it. She needed to return to her library.

“Sir, I—well, I want to thank you for bringing me here after the accident yesterday. As I said—“

“Yesterday?” He interrupted, looking at her in surprise. “Miss French, your accident was over a week ago.”

Her mind went blank. “W-what?”

“You were unconscious for several days, and only woke two days ago, for moments at a time. I wasn’t sure if you’d ever fully wake.”

“T-two days?”

His gaze took on a bit of sympathy. “You don’t remember waking at all, do you?”

She started to shake her head, but thought better of it. “No. No, I don’t.”

“I’m so very sorry, Miss.” Clerk’s hinges creaked as he took a step forward, his voice quiet but pained.

“What? Clerk, don’t be stupid, this isn’t your fault. Miss French knows that.” He scowled at Clerk over his shoulder.

“I wasn’t talking to you, Mr. Gold.” Clerk looked from him back to Belle, but she was caught on something he said.

“Wait … Mr. Gold?” She looked at the man. “That’s your name? As in R. Gold’s _Second Sight_?”

He stiffened next to her and looked away. “I see you’ve heard of me.”

“Heard of you? That’s a vast understatement.” She gave a huffed laugh. “And here I am playing invalid on your daybed and disturbing your peace. Good god.” She began to move off the bed, cursing her weak, uncooperative muscles and the ache in her head. “I’m sorry to have intruded on your seclusion, sir. Clerk, would you fetch my clothes, please?”

He was on her in an instant, his hands unyielding on her shoulders as he pressed her down.

“‘Playing’? No, Miss French, you’re not playing anything. Sit back down.” He stood over her after she sat back with a scowl. “I saw you launched off your VeloCycle into the air and when you landed … you should be dead. But you’re not, and I got to you first, so you’re my responsibility until you’re healed.”

“That’s very kind, but I have to get back to my library.” She countered, but it was weak, as her head was beginning to throb fiercely, making it hard to concentrate. “They—people need me. I can’t leave them.” The pain grew, demons stabbing her from inside and she brought her hands to her temples. “Oh god … th-the Basement needs to be—protected and I—“

She collapsed onto the soft pillows with a cry of pain, the barest relief coming as she no longer had to support the weight of her head on her neck. Her eyes pricked with tears.

“Please—a doctor—“”

His stony facade melted into concern and he dropped to the stool beside her, bringing a hand up to stroke her face. “You’ve pushed too hard. Just lay there, I will fetch the physician. Don't move.”

He pushed her hair back and the feeling was so good, pushing through the pain and she wished he’d never stop. Speech was beyond her, but she managed a small whimper, trying to convey that she needed the touch.

“Alright, I’ll stay. I’ll send the robot. Clerk!” He called softly over his shoulder, though the robot was still near, having stayed silent in observation of their interaction.

“Yes, I heard you both. I’ll fetch the Doctor again.” He left in as much haste as his creaking joints could take him.

Belle’s eyes closed, the sunlight piercing into her brain, trying to boil her. “My head …”

“Shh, sweetheart. Don’t talk.”

“Sun… it hurts.”

“The sun?” She felt his hand move away and whimpered at the loss of the only thing keeping the pain from killing her. It returned with a vengeance, and she gave a thin, helpless wail.

She distantly heard a series of whirrs and clicks and the light was abruptly cut off, plunging the solarium into near-darkness.

Oh, thank god. She felt him return to her side and begin to stroke her hair again. “Thank you,” she whispered.

“No need, my dear.” His hand was gentle, rhythmic on her hair. The tingles through her scalp took the edge off and she was able to settle a bit.

“Good girl. Just rest,” he said in a low, gentle voice, matching the blessed dimness of the room.

He kept stroking her, only stopping when the doctor arrived. Belle kept her eyes closed as they spoke quietly, too awash in pain to listen much. One small detail made it through, however, and when the doctor had given Mr. Gold instructions and medicine and then departed, she found enough voice to ask.

“Did he say, ‘wife’?” She asked in a breathless croak.

He must have moved to fetch her more water, as she heard the sound of a glass filling pause briefly before resuming.

“You’ll need to take one of these every four hours as needed, and it should help with the pain. Won’t get rid of it entirely, the best cure will be sleep, I’m afraid.” His steps stopped next to the daybed. “Ah, would—do you need assistance?”

It made her head throb, but Belle managed to push herself up enough to take the powder and water from him, downing both as best she could before handing the glass back and slumping back to the pillows.

She looked at him through half-lidded eyes. “Why did the doctor say ‘wife’, Mr. Gold?”

The hand gripping his cane moved reflexively and he wouldn’t look at her. He cleared his throat. “I—ah, I had to—explain your presence here somehow. ‘Wife’ seemed plausible enough.”

“So now he thinks I’m Mrs. Gold?”

“Yes.”

“A notoriously reclusive genius has a wife he’s stashed away all these years?”

He scowled at her. “Is that so hard to believe?”

“Yes.” The medicine was pulling the pain away swiftly, making her brain pleasantly fuzzy, and her tongue was loosened. “No one’s seen you since your last book was published, and that was years ago. I think we’d have noticed if you married, sir.”

She saw his jaw clench, the now-familiar thunderous look crossing his features, and wondered if she’d said something wrong. No, she’d only told him the truth, was that so terrible? Her eyelids were growing heavy, and the medicine was pulling her into sleep.

“And besides,” she slurred, “They all know me, an’ I’m very _un_ married.” She gave a weak chuckle. “They’dve noticed if I married someone so handsome, even if he was a recluse.”

Her eyes slipped closed, and she was lost to the effects of the medication.


	3. Chapter 3

When Belle next woke, the mechanical blinds had been retracted and she saw the night sky through the solarium glass. The pain had gone from her head and her limbs felt much closer to normal. She looked around at the shadows in the room cast by the darkness. She would have thought the sight to be gloomy, but the shadows merely lent a kind of mysteriousness that befitted the house’s owner.

She pushed herself up to sitting and attempted to stand. Finding her muscles cooperative enough, she pulled the light coverlet off the daybed and wrapped it around herself, intending to explore a bit, perhaps locate a washroom and then definitely the kitchen. She was practically ravenous.

Belle found a washroom quickly enough, just outside of the parlor attached to the solarium, and was making her way down a long hallway when she saw a flicker of light from behind a partially-opened door. 

Curiosity took hold of her, and she tiptoed to the door to peer inside. 

She saw Clerk moving about and almost pushed into the room to greet him, but stopped short when she heard a voice. Angling her head a bit to try and catch a glimpse of the source, she saw a long couch facing a fireplace, and seated on it was Mr. Gold.

It was his voice she’d heard carry through the hallway. She watched as Clerk handed him something in a glass, Mr. Gold murmuring his thanks and tossing back the drink.

“It really is rather generous of you to let us stay, Mr. Gold. Especially now that Miss French seems to have fully awakened.” Clerk had settled into a chair angled near the sofa but facing away from Belle’s vantage point, and all she could see was the top of his hat as it tilted in that way of his.

Mr. Gold scoffed and gave a brisk wave of his hand. “Ridiculous. It happened practically in front of me and not even I am that cruel to boot someone out when they’ve been injured.”

“I wouldn’t necessarily use the word ‘cruel’, sir.” Clerk said in his even, contemplating way.

“Well, then you’re sadly mistaken, Robot.” Mr. Gold pushed off the sofa with the help of his cane and moved to the mantle above the fireplace, taking up a decanter and pouring a second measure of some sort of liquor in his tumbler. “I have it in me, and use it when it suits.” He turned and she ducked away, fearful of being found eavesdropping.

He didn’t seem to notice her, luckily, and she moved back to peer through the opening. He’d moved to stare into the flames, one hand gripping the cane as he leaned on it for support, the other swirling the contents of his glass absently. 

“She will want to return, however, and soon, regardless of how she physically feels.” Clerk said. “It’s her domain, after all.”

“I know.” Mr. Gold sipped his drink, his brow furrowed in thought. “But I could delay that.”

“Delay? Why would you want to cause a delay?” Clerk’s joints creaked a little as Belle heard him shift. She could sense a bit of agitation in his movements, and she was a little irritated herself. What right had Mr. Gold to deny her her post? She almost pushed into the room to make her presence known and give him a piece of her mind, but his next words stopped her short.

“If she’s not properly healed, the Basement won’t open for her.” He heaved a sigh. “And if it doesn’t, then I will never find what I’m looking for.”

Belle pulled back in shock. How did he know that? She waited for Clerk to press him for details, but to her confused chagrin, he took a different path.

“You do realize if she is absent without cause for much longer, they’ll consider it forfeit and absorb her library back into their holdings? Her books will be distributed throughout the world and that means her Basement will be reassigned.”

Clerk was horribly right. The ICEC had strict rules about the maintenance of libraries for matters of security and the proper handling of knowledge in their world. A dark rage stirred in her gut and before she could think better of it, she pushed the door fully open and barged in, startling both the room’s occupants.

“There is no bloody way in hell I’m letting you take my library from me!” She pointed at Mr. Gold, furious and lashing out like a cornered animal.

Clerk had risen and held a long metal hand out to her. “Miss French—“

“No! I’m not done yet!” She skirted the couch, coming close to Mr. Gold and shoving her finger in his face. “I don’t know who the hell you think you are, but you won’t be delaying anything! Clerk and I are going back to my library tonight!” 

Mr. Gold just stood there, mute, his mouth slightly agape and his eyes flicking over her as her chest heaved with agitated breaths. She felt Clerk put something around her shoulders, and realized in her haste that she’d lost the coverlet when she’d barged in. Covering up seemed to snap Mr. Gold out of his trance, and his eyebrows lowered into a dangerous scowl.

“Eavesdropping is not becoming, dearie.”

“Neither is meddling in affairs that don’t concern you.” She bit out, her voice deepening in her ire.

“This is my house, Miss French. What happens in it becomes my affair.”

“Well, it’s my library you’re talking about, and I will intervene on its behalf. And besides,” she took a small step closer, ignoring the way his eyes widened and looked almost panicked, “I didn’t ask you to bring me here and keep me for a damned week.”

Belle and Mr. Gold glared at each other, both refusing to budge an inch and it was Clerk who broke the tense standoff.

“Pardon me, but it seems there’s much left to discuss. Perhaps I should see to refreshments from your kitchen, Mr. Gold?” Clerk’s words were to them both, but he kept his eyes on Belle.

They broke eye contact at the same time, moving away from one another in embarrassed alacrity. Mr. Gold moved back to his place on the couch, leaning his cane against the armrest, and Belle sat in the chair vacated by Clerk. The robot shuffled out, leaving the two of them alone to contemplate the fire, and each other.

“Would you… care to change into something else?”

Belle blinked at the non-sequitur, but replied stiffly. “Excuse me?”

Mr. Gold didn’t look at her, merely flicked a finger in gesture. “You’re, ah, still in your nightgown. Would you prefer to dress?”

Belle raised an eyebrow at him haughtily. “I’m fine as I am, thank you.”

“Ah."

She glowered at him for a moment before turning to look at the fire. Silence filled the room for several minutes, the only sound the crackling of the flames and the faint ticking of a clock somewhere above her head. She pulled the coverlet tighter around her, relaxing a bit into the chair.

“Are you cold?”

She looked at him askance before realizing he must have seen her fidget with her covering. “That, too, is not your concern,” she said frostily. “I’m quite capable of seeing to my own comfort, even in an unfamiliar place.”

He lifted a hand, then dropped it, blowing a breath through his nose and fidgeting in his own spot.

She looked at him with an annoyed frown. “What’s got you all twitchy?”

He scoffed and grabbed his cane as he stood abruptly, pacing a bit unevenly before the fire. “Nothing. I don’t ‘twitch.”

Belle rolled her eyes. “If you say so.” She drummed her fingers on her chair, wondering what in blazes was taking Clerk so long.

As if on cue, he bustled back in with a tea tray and meandered to a high table behind the couch to set it down, pouring a cup for both Belle and Mr. Gold and handing them over. Belle caught Mr. Gold’s slightly harassed look as he was forced to juggle his cane around the teacup in one hand and the tumbler in the other.

“And there we are. Do you need me for anything else, Miss French?” He looked briefly to Mr. Gold, and the meaning wasn’t lost on Belle.

“No, Clerk, we’re alright for now. But what will you do to occupy yourself for the meanwhile?”

He tilted his head. “Oh, peruse Mr. Gold’s library, I suppose. It’s rather grand and I’d like to see if it’s comparable to ours.” He looked back to Mr. Gold. “Though I doubt it.”

She heard Gold growl something about ‘insufferable automatons’ and sipped her tea to cover a snort at him standing there with his hands full. He must have heard it, for he gave her a brief, withering look conveying his displeasure as he moved to place both the cup and tumbler of liquor back on the table.

Her mind shifted back to why she’d entered the room in the first place. She needed to go; her library was too close to being reassigned and she would die before she’d let someone take it from her. 

Belle placed her cup back in its saucer, and gave him a calm look. “I’d like to thank you for your hospitality, Mr. Gold, and the care after my accident, but now I must insist that my belongings be gathered so that Clerk and I may return to my library at once.”

“No.”

“…No?” She glared at him in disbelief. “Are you saying that I can’t leave?”

He gave her a look that said she was being unreasonable. “Miss, French, you’re barely out of bed, never mind that you came charging in here like a hornet.” He placed his cane in front of himself and leaned on it with both hands. “It’s best that you stay until you’re well. I’ll write to the ICEC and tell them of your predicament.”

The rage from earlier boiled up again and Belle saw red. “How dare you! You’ll do no such thing!” She shot out of the chair, all but yelling at him. “You have quite an inflated sense of yourself if you think—wait.” She stopped, his words sinking in fully. “Wait—You know ICEC?” She said, giving the colloquial pronunciation of _eye-sek_. She pulled back a bit, wary of him. “How do you know to contact them?”

He met her eyes, but his hands were fidgeting with his cane. “I’m on the council.”

Her eyes widened in shock. “You—what?” She gulped, her gut sinking at the realization. “But—but how? But—you’re a notoriously reclusive author, and—and your name isn’t on the charter.”

“Not the public charter, no.”

“Why not?”

He shrugged. “I prefer my solitude.”

Belle turned away, moving into the shadows not chased away by the light of the flames, a hand over her heart as her mind whirred. They could take it all from her, swoop in and just…remove her because of her injuries and then where would she be? Jobless, homeless, starving on the streets, forced into god-knows-what to survive…

“Damn.” Her voice was a quiet whine of distress. “Damn and hell and blast it all back to hell.” She pressed the heels of her hands to her temples, trying to think of a way to convince him to not contact the Council. Panicked tears pricked at her eyelids and a throbbing began in the back of her skull. “No. No.”

“Miss French? Are you alright? Do you need to lay back down?” His voice was suffused with warm concern, and her head spun at how quickly he could vacillate. She heard the tapping of his cane as he took a few steps towards her, and she whirled around, a hand out to halt his progress, while the world swam for a moment at her abrupt motions.

“I-I’m quite fine” Belle said distractedly, unaware that she was swaying slightly where she stood. She tried a smile, but the throbbing pain turned it into a grimace. “I just—need to gather my things, and be on my way, that’s all.”

She edged slowly towards the door. “I must get back. N-no need to—contact—” She broke off, giving a cry of pain as the headache burst free, rolling in a wave through her head. “I—Clerk—we—“

Lights burst in her vision, bringing stabbing pain, and her knees threatened to give out, the torment overwhelming her. She brought her hand to her eyes, trying to push out the flashing lights. She heard him move quickly towards her and tried to back up, to tell him she was fine, she just needed a minute, but the words wouldn’t come out. Just another pained whimper as she felt him gather her in his arms, and press her head to his neck.

“Oh, you stubborn girl. You should have stayed in bed.” His whisper was harsh but his arms were strong and she wanted desperately to cling to him, to seek relief from the torture her body was inflicting on her. She felt him trembling slightly, and dully registered that he’d dropped his cane to hold her, and was likely balancing their combined weights his seemingly good leg.

“Clerk!” He boomed near her ear and she wailed in response, his loud voice like a knife to her brain. “Forgive me, sweetheart,” he whispered, his tone contrite. “He’s all the way in the library.” She felt his hand move over her face gently, before warm lips pressed to her forehead. Then the world went dark.


	4. Chapter 4

_A void. Black. Devoid of life, hope, light. And a voice, calling, reaching for her, oily and repulsive but seducing her the same._

_‘Pretty Belle.’_

_No._  
  
_‘Lovely woman. Let me in, won’t you?’_

_No! Go away!_

_'Let me slither inside you, feast on your warmth, and fill you with everlasting dark. They always let me in.’_

_Run. Escape. But no light, why was there no light!_

_‘Just a taste, just a lick, and you’re mine.’_

_Run! …but where? Nowhere to go, no path, no light—_

_‘Oh! Such havoc we’ll wreak on this miserable place, and I’ll make you mine from the inside out—_

Belle jerked awake with a scream, bolting upright. Her eyes darted madly around the room and her chest heaving with scared breaths.

It was just a nightmare, but the voice...

She whimpered in remembered fear, despite knowing she was quite safe, despite the sunlight streaming through the windows banishing the horrible, deep void that had filled her sleeping mind. 

She dropped her head into her hands, tears filling her eyes. She hadn’t had a bad dream like that since her parents died. Could it have been the accident bringing them back? 

She was startled by the sudden opening of a door to reveal Mr. Gold standing in the doorway, looking alarmed, yet dressed for the day. He moved swiftly to the bed, reaching for her and she was stunned when his hand reached out and cupped her cheek. “Miss French, what happened? Are you alright? I heard your scream.” His eyes searched hers, his face suffused with concern.

“N-no, I’m alright.” She stared at him, bemused, the feel of his hand on her face sending a strange tingle through her. “It—I was just having a nightmare.”

“You sounded so scared.” His voice was almost a whisper as his thumb stroked her cheek gently. “Are you in any pain?”

She shook her head. “I feel fine. I just,” she sighed. “I haven’t had a nightmare like that since—since my parents died.” Belle felt her face heat in embarrassment. “Silly, really. I’m not a child.”

“Not silly at all, dear.” Mr. Gold took his hand away gently, almost reluctantly, his fingertips ghosting down her face. “Would you like to talk about it? Would it help?”

Belle cringed. “No. It needs to just go away on its own.” She shook her head. “The sooner the better.”

He scanned her face once more before taking a deep breath and getting up from the bed. He produced a pocket watch from his vest and checked the time, humming contemplatively. She noticed his suit was a deep charcoal-grey, and the vest was pinstriped. A white shirt underneath a simple black silk cravat completed the suit, and it was striking on him.

“It’s nearly nine. Would you care to join me downstairs for breakfast, or shall I have a tray sent up to you?" 

His demeanor had entirely shifted in the time it took Belle to admire his suit, and it made her head spin a little. Figuratively this time at least.

“Um … n-no, I can join you downstairs. I just need to—“ She broke off as she looked around, and took in the room for the first time.

Mahogany furniture, a wardrobe across from the sleigh-style bed, deep burgundy and cream carpets and high windows framed by gold brocade drapes pulled back to let the sun shine through. A warm, masculine bedroom.

“Mr. Gold … is—is this your room?” She couldn't help the incredulous note that crept into her voice and felt him bristle a little beside her.

“Yes.”

Belle looked at him, shocked and a little mortified. She was in his bed. In her nightgown.

_Oh, dear._

“Why would you give me your room? Why not put me back in the solarium?”

He fiddled with his cane and didn't meet her eyes. “It—you were in a bad way last night, Miss French. A full bed and room to yourself for the night seemed a better idea than a cramped daybed.” He finally looked up at her. “I had hoped you'd be more comfortable, but if I was mistaken—“

“No!” She interrupted, reaching for him, and placing her hand over his where it rested atop his cane. His skin was so warm under her hand and she quelled the curious thought as to whether the rest of him was as warm. “No, it’s fine. It’s more than fine, really. It’s incredibly generous, thank you.”

He’d grown still when her hand touched his, and raised wide eyes when she finished speaking. “It’s no matter.” He said, his voice gruff and a faint blush staining his cheeks. He took a step back, pulling himself away from her touch, and her hand fluttered in the air for a moment before she took it back.

“I’ll leave you to dress.” And he was back to not looking at her again. “You’ll find your things in the wardrobe. Please ring if you need anything else and I’ll send someone up to help you.”

And with that, he turned and left, shutting the door behind him quietly.

She stared at the closed door for a few moments before she came back to herself, blinking in wonder.

She marveled at how quick he could change from one emotion to another. He was a mystery to her, like a thick new book, and she found herself longing to see what the pages of him contained.

She got out of bed and moved to the wardrobe, pulling open the doors and stopping at the sight that greeted her.

A selection of women’s clothing hung neatly, with shoes to match. She felt a very odd and unwelcome surge of something like jealousy, and felt quite stupid a moment later when she realized the clothing was hers.

She sighed, resting her head against one of the open doors. “Idiot.” She muttered, reaching for a cream blouse and a rose skirt and shoes to match, paired with a deeper rose over-corset. 

Belle pulled open a few more drawers and her face flushed as she saw feminine undergarments she recognized as her own, as well. She dearly hoped it had been Clerk to collect these for her, as the thought of Mr. Gold going through her clothing, especially her underwear, was as embarrassing as it was oddly exciting.

She dressed quickly, and managed to even find a few pins for her hair, (Clerk had apparently been very helpful…) and made her way down the winding staircase.

She was unsure of where to go when she got to the bottom, but a quick listen told her to head to the open doors just in front of the stairs. She could hear the light clink of silverware and moved towards the sound.

Her guess had been right, as she came upon a white-clothed table in an intimate dining room, the sideboard decked with covered dishes, Mr. Gold presently moving to seat himself in a chair with a filled plate. He looked up when she entered and his gaze raked over her hungrily before he could hide it, making Belle feel as if she were far less clothed. 

He set his plate down, but remained standing, and gestured for a servant to pull out the chair to his right. Belle hesitated; his right? Surely he was aware of what that meant? Or perhaps as a single man he didn’t stand on ceremony like other houses did. And it was only breakfast, no real need to be so formal. 

Belle took the proffered seat and smiled in thanks at the footman before he slinked away.

“I’m glad you found your things, Miss French. Are you satisfied with what your robot selected?”

She met his gaze, and felt a bit of relief that it was indeed Clerk who’d procured her things. “Yes, thank you. I’m sorry for any trouble you had to go to on my account.”

“Nonsense.” He dropped his napkin in his lap. “What would you like to eat?”

“Whatever you’ve chosen seems fine.”

He gestured and another footman moved forward. “Please make Miss French a plate similar to my own.” The footman nodded and moved off to the sideboard.

“Tea?”

She nodded. “Please.” A lovely blue-and-white china saucer and cup were placed before her and filled, and she took the offered cream and sugar, setting her tea to her liking before taking a deep sip. A plate was placed before her; rashers, eggs and toast, and Belle’s mouth watered as the familiar smells hit her nose.

She hummed in pleasure. “Oh, forgive me, Mr. Gold. I fear this will not be a very ladylike meal.” She dropped her own napkin into her lap and picked up her knife and fork, gazing at her plate with longing.

“If I didn’t know better, I’d fear for the safety of the bacon.” He chuckled quietly, and she couldn't help the giggle that bubbled out of her.

“I feel as if I could eat half the city, sir.”

“I’ll alert the shopkeepers.”

True to her word, she attacked her food with the gusto of the newly-healed.

They were quiet for a bit, both enjoying their meals, when she wondered out loud where Clerk had gone to.

“Your robot did me the great favor of delivering my daily post. I should expect him back soon.” 

She shook her head fondly. Sweet Clerk. “I’d imagine he’s gone to fetch mine, as well. Which reminds me, I should like to take my leave of your kind hospitality later today, if it’s all the same.” She smiled at him and returned to her food. 

Silence greeted her, and she looked up to see a stony expression on his face. “Is…something wrong?” She asked in confusion.

“I’m afraid that won’t be possible, Miss French.”

Her stomach dropped. _He must be joking._

She said as much. “You’re telling me no? Again? Didn’t we cover this last night?” She set the cutlery down lest she was tempted to use it on him. “I need to get back before the council sends someone to take over. They haven’t been alerted yet, but it’s only a matter of time.”

He didn’t respond, merely picked up his napkin, and took care to wiped the corners of his mouth before setting it back down and meeting her eyes. And she knew.

“You didn’t.” Anger surged through her veins as she looked at him.

“Miss French—”

“Bloody hell.”

“It’s for the best.”

She scowled. “And who decided that? You and your ridiculously inflated ego?”

He ignored the jab. “The council responded to my message this morning—“

“What? When did you send them a message?”

“Last night, after you… went to bed.” He didn't even have the grace to look ashamed. “Their reply was waiting for me when I awoke.”

Belle was all but vibrating with anger, but took a deep breath.

“And what exactly,” she said, her voice deceptively soft, “did you tell them?”

“That you were indisposed after an accident that had put your mental acuity at risk, and they gave me leave to take hold of the collections until such time as you’re proven fit to return, or, if you are not, to destroy and disperse at will.” He answered without reserve, even having the audacity to continue his breakfast while doing so.

_Destroy and disperse at will._

She was going to be sick, her vision narrowing to a thin tunnel as her mind whirled out of control. She tried to breathe, to coax herself through the anger and the anguish his casual explanation had wrought, but it wasn’t to be borne.

She pushed up slowly from the table, glaring at the footman who rushed forward to help her until he backed away.

She turned her attention to Mr. Gold, who was poised with a bite of egg just before his open mouth, looking at her in surprise. 

“You listen to me, you overbearing troglodyte,” she began, her voice low and dangerous. “ _No one_ is going to take my library from me. Not you, and certainly not the puffed-up dandies on the council.” 

His face was astonished, brown eyes wide on her face. “Miss French—“

“Just because you may have nothing worthwhile in your life, doesn't mean you can take the worth from mine.” She leaned in, ignoring the dangerous scowl on his face. “Try it, and see what happens.”

She pushed away from the table, and him, and stalked out towards the stairs.


	5. Chapter 5

Belle hadn’t gone far up the winding staircase when her seemingly righteous rage suddenly drained, like dumping water out of a bucket. She was shaking and weak, her breathing labored, and she sank down to the carpeted stairs, leaning against the railing. Tears welled in her eyes and she felt roiling shame for her behavior towards Mr. Gold. 

She’d always had a bit of a temper, but it only ever emerged when something was truly wrong, truly unjust, and while the idea of losing control of her library scared her to her toes, the frequent rage she’d been exhibiting was starting to scare her. It was so unlike her and she didn’t know what to do.

She didn’t know how long she’d been sitting when she heard the stairs creak, and she looked up to see Clerk lowering himself down to sit next to her, turning his head to regard her.

 “I heard what happened in the dining room.” One of his spidery metal hands grasped hers gently.

Belle looked at him and almost started crying again. “I’m a terrible person, Clerk, and now our library is in jeopardy.”

“You’re not a terrible person, but your words were harsh.”

Belle sniffled pitifully and dropped her head into her free hand. “I know. I don’t know what happened. I just…panicked.”

“Give it some time, and then you should go talk to him.”

She pulled her head up sharply. “Are you joking? You see how well doing just that went.” She gave a humorless laugh. “He’ll never listen to me now.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t say ‘never’. I suspect he’s become rather fond of you, you know.” He flexed his fingers in approximation of a squeeze before releasing her hand.

She snorted. “Sure. Fond as a thorn in his side. I yelled at him, and called him a terrible name. You heard it.”

The robot hummed thoughtfully, clacking his fingers together. “Did you know he spent the week you were ill taking care of you?”

“… He did?”

“Yes, he did.”

“I assumed it was you who looked after me.”

“Oh, I was there, of course, but he seems to have very interesting ideas of modern chivalry.”

Belle snorted derisively, “God save me from chivalrous men,” she muttered. “Nottingham was chivalrous, remember how well that went?” She propped an elbow on her knee and dropped her chin into her hand.

“All the same, Mr. Gold was very protective of you after the crash.” He tilted his head to look at her again. “He seemed to regard it as somehow his fault, though search me as to how.”

Belle stared out, nonplussed. “I—that was very kind of him,” she shook her head, “but it doesn't excuse him making a decision about my life without consulting me.”

“Mmm, I agree. I do wonder, though, if perhaps he was just trying to act in your best interest.”

Belle gawked at him. “Not you, too. Whose side are you on, Clerk?”

“Always yours, Miss.” He stood and began to make his way back down the stairs. “I simply think there’s more to our Mr. Gold than he would let the world see.”

Belle sighed in resignation. It wasn't in her nature to shy from a challenge, her degree fields were proof enough of that. She needed to find a way to make him see what this was doing to her without resorting to panicked name-calling and threats.

Shortly after Clerk began his descent, Mr. Gold walked out of the dining room. He turned, his eyes meeting Belle’s.

She opened her mouth to speak, but he pulled his gaze from hers and moved away. She lost sight of him after a moment, but heard a door open and shut with a decisive snick. She turned to Clerk, at sea.

“Ah, well. Give him time, Miss.” He held out a hand for her. “In the meanwhile, let me take you to the library. It’s not as grand as ours, as I suspected, but lovely all the same.”

“No.” She moved to the landing, rounding the staircase, meaning to follow through the door at the other end of the foyer. “Clerk, I can’t let this fester. I have to talk to him.”

“No, Miss.” She stopped, feeling a metal hand grasp her elbow. “You really must leave him be right now.”

She looked back, fully prepared to shrug him off, but something stopped her.

“Clerk, is there something I don’t know?”

He released her, tilting his head. “I don’t know what you mean, Miss.”

She looked at him suspiciously. “Why are you so solicitous of his welfare all of a sudden?”

“We are in his home, Miss Belle. I’d think it no less than proper to accord the appropriate amount of respect to Mr. Gold.”

“There’s respect and then there’s protection. You’re protecting him from something. What is it?”

Clerk didn’t respond.

“Is it me?”

“No, Miss.”

“Am I in danger?”

“No, Miss.”

“Then what is it?”

He shook his head. “It’s not my story to tell, Miss.” 

“Not your—he’s enlisted you in this?” She turned back to glare at the door, anger welling up inside her, full and hot. 

“No, Miss Belle, you don’t understand—“ 

“The hell I don’t.” She barreled towards the door, not bothering to knock once she reached it.

She burst into what was apparently his office, the force of her entry ricocheting the door off the wall, narrowly missing her in its rebound.

He turned to her in shock, standing by a back window, the sun glinting off something reflective in his hand.

“Miss French—“

“First you threaten to take my library, and now you try to take Clerk from me? What the hell are you playing at?” Her hands were fisted at her sides, rage making her shake.

“Lower your voice, please.” He put the object in his hand on the desk, face down, and she distantly noted it was a picture frame. She shook herself mentally.

“Don’t tell me what to do.” She clenched her teeth together so hard she feared they’d crack.

He scowled at her. “You barged in here, remember? Shouting something about Clerk and your damned library.” He moved to the door, shutting it and turning back to her.

“You won’t get your hands on either of them, so help me God.” She took a step closer to him, jabbing her finger against her chest and snarling. “They are _mine_ and you can take them from my cold, dead hands.”

“What the hell is wrong with you?” He rasped out, pushing past her. “You’re acting like a madwoman.”

“Mad? No.” She stalked to his desk, leaning in towards him. “I’m not mad. In fact, I see quite clearly now.”

“And what is it that you see, Miss French, in your newfound clarity?” He seemed calm, aloof even, but something in her knew better. She wanted to push at him, to mark him and make him feel some of her anguish, then maybe, maybe he’d understand.

She pushed off the desk, backing up to pace like a caged animal. “You want something from me, something important, something precious enough to lie to the council—“

“I didn’t lie.”

“—And then you come swooping in with your stupid letter and you think you can just take what’s mine.” She whirled to face him, panicked tears filling her eyes, “But I won’t let you. Do you understand? _I won’t._ ”

She tried to push words past the tears, past the heavy knot in her throat, but all that came out were strangled noises, and she broke down into sobs, her anger evaporating like steam off hot metal and once again leaving her stripped and weak. 

She slumped against the door, thumping her head against the wood as she cried. “It’s all I have. Don’t you see?” She hiccuped a few breaths, trying to speak around the fear and grief. “I d-don’t have any family, my parents are dead. All I have is Clerk, and m-my library—”

She cut off as his warm, strong arms pulled her into an embrace, and she gasped. She hadn’t noticed him moving closer and she instinctively pushed against him for a moment before surrendering, sliding her arms around his broad back and holding on for dear life as the tears came anew.

She was baffled by him. By the continued, silent assurance that he was there for her, when he really shouldn't be. She didn’t deserve it and said as much. 

“Don’t be silly.” His voice was muffled against her hair. “You’re suffering.”

“But I’m a brute.” She sniffled miserably. “And I’ve gotten your suit all wet.”

He chuckled and gave her temple a gentle nuzzle. “Yes, what a fiend you are, defending what you love most.”

“I’m sorry, Mr. Gold.”

“Please, call me Rhys.” He rested his chin against her head. “I think we can do away with formalities. Yelling in my office tends to break down that barrier.”

She gave a small chuckle, still sniffling a little.

“Better?”

“Yes.” 

“Good.” He pulled back from her, putting a bit of distance between them, and Belle mourned the loss a bit. She scolded herself. _It was just a gesture of comfort, nothing more._  

“Miss French—“

She shook her head. “Belle. If I can call you Rhys, you can call me Belle. Please.”

His lips quirked in a crooked smile. “Alright, Belle.” He gestured to the chairs in front of his desk.

She took a seat and he settled next to her. “Belle, I need you to know something about your library. Something that I think will help you understand what’s been going on.” 

She stiffened, remembering the rage, and ensuing brittleness when it boiled away. “Yes?”

“Part of my position on the council, silent though it may be, is to seek out certain…things from the libraries around the country.” His eyes searched her face, lingering on her lips for a moment before continuing.

“I didn’t come to your library intending to take it from you. Quite the opposite.”

“The opposite?” She frowned. “But you sent a letter to the ICEC, and now you can do what you want with—with everything.”

He sighed, reaching over to his desk and plucking a letter from a small stack. “Here. Read for yourself.”

She took the paper from his hand, eyes scanning the words.

_Injury … healing? … concern for her well-being, the library is quite important to her … strong possibility of tenebrae occupation … highest priority is to protect her, but destroy it at will …_

“They…”

“Yes. They’re worried for you.” He took the letter back.

 “Why?”

He shook his head, nonplussed. “Because, Belle. You’re brilliant. You’re one of the most learned librarians they’ve ever seen, and your understanding and fierce protection of your Basement has kept something in check that we’ve been chasing for decades.” 

Belle stood, overwhelmed. “No, that’s not true. We all care for our libraries, I’m no different.” 

“Yes, you are. Dual certification by twenty-four, and the largest collection of dark materials on this half of the country. That’s quite different.”

She waved the praise away. “It’s my job.” 

“It would seem you’re quite good at it.” He stood. “And you’re pacing again, are you alright?”

She stopped. “Yes … No … I don’t know. What did you mean, you’ve been chasing something for decades?”

Rhys froze, the hand on his cane white at the knuckles from clenching. He took an audibly deep breath moving to pick up the picture frame he’d set down while she’d been shouting at him.

He turned it over, gazing at it with a painful longing, one finger lovingly tracing whatever the image was before handing it over to Belle without a word.

The sepia-toned image of a young boy, bright eyed and smiling, stared back at her. A mop of slightly messy curls over a sweet, curious face, Belle judged him to be about twelve. He was dressed smartly, but out of the current fashion, and she looked back at Rhys. 

“Is this you as a child?" 

He let out a noise that was halfway between and laugh and a sob. “No. That’s my son, Baelfire.”

An unusual name, but somehow seemed to fit the boy in the picture. “Well, he’s the spitting image of you.” She smiled, handing the photo back. “I’d love to meet him one day.”

“He’s dead.”

_Just because you may having nothing worthwhile in your life…_

“Oh, god." 

“Yes.”

“I’m so sorry, I didn’t know.”

“It’s fine.” He moved to a bookshelf and pulled a volume down, rounding the desk and handing it to her. “There’s a reason I’m showing you all of this, and it starts with Bae.”

She took the book, eyes widening when she saw the title.


	6. Chapter 6

_Dark Sight_

_-R. Gold_

Belle lifted the cover, leafing through the first few pages reverently. This volume was the only one she’d not managed to read in his body of work. It had graced stores and other libraries for a few weeks when she was younger before it was mysteriously pulled off all shelves.

It was speculative fiction of sorts about the darker entities that were imagined to traverse their world, in the shadows and other areas where light failed to thrive. Once the book came out, rumors began to wind their way through the city that the content had inspired a few to look for those entities, and so it was pulled. The few that had been purchased were now worth a fortune to collectors. 

“Your son’s death has to do with your books?” 

“Yes.” He ran a hand through his hair, disheveling the neat strands. “Bae was the reason the book was written.”

“Oh, Rhys,” She whispered.

“I’ve been chasing this thing for years,” he continued, his voice wooden. “Town through town, never quite managing to catch it before it destroys who it can, and moves on.” He moved to the window, gazing through the parted curtains. “I bought my way onto the ICEC council, pushed the right buttons, and have been tracking it ever since.”

Belle moved to him. “That’s what you meant when you said I’d kept something in check.” She placed her hand gently overtop his on the cane. “Rhys, what happened to your son?”

He brought his free hand up to his chest, rubbing the spot over his heart, his breathing shallow and ragged as he stared hard but unseeing out the window. “I can’t—” She could see the pain overwhelming him, making him panic. “It’s too much, I don’t—“

She interrupted him with her body, offering comfort as he’d done earlier, sliding her arms around him and pulling him into as tight an embrace as she could manage, one hand coming up to pet the back of his head.

She heard the cane clatter to the floor a second before his arms seized around her and crushed her more fully to him, his broad shoulders shaking from the sobs he was trying desperately to hide against her neck.

“I’ve got you,” she whispered. “I’ve got you.”

She stroked his hair back, fingers sliding through the soft strands. His grief seemed so fresh; had he never shared his pain with anyone? Had he been alone with it all these years? Was that what led him into seclusion? 

Holding him, comforting him felt so right, and while Belle’s heart ached for his loss, she wanted nothing more in that moment than to hold and comfort him for the rest of her life. She squeezed him tighter, whispering soothing nonsense into his ear and clutching an arm across his back.

His quiet sobs tapered off to gentle nuzzling, and soon she felt him kissing her neck, his grip around her changing. Belle realized with a jolt that his grief was turning towards another form of comfort. He probably didn't even realize he was doing it and she should do the decent thing and stop him.

But she didn’t. She guiltily relished the feel of his hands on her, of his warm, firm mouth gently nipping at her neck, and threaded her fingers in his hair, gently fisting the silken strands. He kissed his way up to her cheek, nuzzling again, and she whimpered.

Belle felt the moment he realized what he was doing, and smiled at him as he released her, looking mortified.

“It’s alright, Rhys.” 

“Forgive me, Belle, I didn’t—”

“Rhys,” she interrupted. “It’s truly alright. Have you been alone with your grief all this time?”

He hesitated, then nodded. “It’s been eighteen years.”

Pain pierced Belle’s heart. To live for so long with such a wound would drive anyone mad. It was a miracle he hadn’t gone down that dark path. 

“Oh, Rhys. Was there no one to share your burden?”

“No. His mother ran off when he was a baby, and I’ve never been able to find her. It was just the two of us.” His beautiful eyes welled with tears and shame. “I’m sorry. You are not responsible for this mess.”

She cupped his cheek. “You’re not a mess. You’ve been grieving alone for years, you’ve been searching for whatever it is alone for years. If anything, it’s the world that should be ashamed for letting you go through this on your own.”

She picked up his cane where it had fallen and gave it back to him. “We can continue our discussion later on, when you feel more up to it.”

His gaze snapped back to hers and he shook his head vehemently, drawing a shaky breath. “No. No, I’m fine. We need to speak about this. You need to know what’s going to happen.” 

She hesitated. “Are you sure you don’t want to wait?”

“Yes.”

“Alright then, if you insist.” Belle gave him a gentle smile, reaching over and picking up Dark Sight. She opened the cover again, turning to the chapter list.

“Rhys, you said you’ve been chasing it for—ouch!”

She glared at offending page that had cut the tip of her index finger. “Second time in a week.” She sucked away the tiny drop of blood that welled up, releasing the digit with a pop. “You’d think a librarian would know how to avoid paper cuts, for heaven’s sake.” She gave a rueful shake of her head, looking up at Rhys, but he was staring hard at her finger 

“Rhys, what’s wrong?” She nudged him with her elbow. “You’re not afraid of a little blood, are you?” She joked, but he remained silent, taking her hand cautiously and turning it over.

“Belle,” he said slowly, “do you remember which book gave you the paper cut last time?” He looked up, the intensity in his eyes startling her. She tried to tug her hand free, but his grip had turned into a vice.

“Let go of me.” She tugged harder, but he didn’t budge.

“Which book was it that cut you?” His voice turned to a growl.

“I-I don’t know, I—“

He released her hand, grabbing her shoulders and giving her a little shake. “Tell me. It’s paramount; you have to tell me!”

A voice inside her head urged her to fight back against him, to make him bleed for daring to treat her thus, and she nearly swooned at the rage that revealed itself, battering the door of her consciousness and threatening to take over.

She fought against it, dimly aware that he was repeating his demand to know which book it was, in ever-increasing volume, until it was too much.

She looked him in the eye, a second of calm before the storm.

Then all hell broke loose inside her.

The threatening rage burst like an overburdened dam, flooding her senses with burning anger and hatred, letting it loose through her veins in a molten siege, leaving charred wreckage in its wake.

It overtook her, throwing her consciousness into a corner of her mind and binding her there to witness as it used her voice and her limbs in a sick and dark mimicry.

It shot out her hands to wrap around his neck and shove him back until he hit the wall with a strength that should have been unknown to her. It curved her mouth into a disgusting, grimacing smile, her lips pulling back to bare her teeth, as she screamed inside her own mind, fighting like mad against the tarry blackness that threatened to snuff her out like a candle in a maelstrom.

Rhys stared, the incomprehension on his face morphing swiftly into terror.

“Belle—“

It thumped him hard against the wall , making him cry out in pain, before it drew the fingers of one of her hands down the side of his head, letting out a breath in a slow hiss. Rhys jerked his head away, rage and fear and understanding mingling into an ugly mass on his face.

“Get the hell out of her,” he snarled, but the thing controlling Belle wouldn't budge, instead emitting a guttural, scraping growl from her throat, tightening the grip of her hands around his neck until his face began to turn red.

His hands came up to pry desperately at the ones around his throat, and Belle pounded at the walls of her mental prison, trying in vain to wrest enough control to loosen the possessed grip of her hands, fearful for his life.

It leaned her body in, pressing close to his ear, and a voice that was a mix of her and something else, something sickening, spoke to him, curdling Belle’s insides with fear to hear the halting, rasping words come out of her mouth.

_“I will scrape this one … from the inside out.”_


	7. Chapter 7

Her body pulled back and she briefly caught the reflection in his eyes of her psychotically twisted features as she wailed from within. The thing kept her pinned down inside her own mind, sticking into her like a needle through a mounted butterfly, when suddenly it released his throat, curling back into itself to hide in the recesses of her mind before she knew what was happening.

Not quick enough, however, as his hands shot forward to give as good as he’d gotten and wrapped themselves around her neck, not realizing yet that she was back in control.

“Never. I will pull you out of her _myself_ ,” he spat. She scratched at his hands, trying to pry him away as her vision swam with black dots, but he tightened his grip.

“ _Rhys_ ,” she choked out, still clawing at him. “ _S-stop_.”

Realization dawned on his face. “Belle … but—oh, god!” He released her as if she were on fire, stumbling back as she succumbed to a coughing fit, grasping a chair to keep herself upright.

He reached for her again, but she backed away swiftly, moving to the door.

“Belle, no. Belle, please, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to hurt you,” he said, his face crumpling in despair. “Please, you have to believe me.”

She shook her head, her throat too sore to speak and her eyes burning with unshed tears. If this was the thing that had killed his son, how soon before it did the same to her?

She swallowed against the pain in her neck. “That is what took your son?” she croaked. “That—that thing that took over me, that is what killed Baelfire?”

“Yes,” he said in a despairing whisper, his hands held out beseechingly.

“You recognized it.”

“I did.”

“Tell me how to get rid of it.”

He dropped his hands. “I don’t know a way. It moves quickly, that’s all I know. It … caused his death in a matter of days.”

Belle closed her eyes, trying to fight the panic that gripped her. No. She would find a way. There had to be a way.

“How did it happen?”

Rhys grimaced. “Belle—“

“It’s inside me now, Rhys,” Belle snapped, past all patience. “It threatened to tear me apart.” She glared at him. “So tell me what I need to know.” 

He stared at her for a minute, a look of betrayal on his face, and though it pained her to be harsh, her life depended on his answers. She might be able to glean something that could help her figure out what to do to get this thing out of her and save her own skin.

He moved to the desk, slumping into the chair with an air of defeat. Leaning over to pick up the book where she had dropped it on the floor, he flipped the pages to a specific section, and dropped the open book on the desk. “Here.”

She took it and began to read, sitting in a chair near his desk.

It was a fictionalized account of the events that led to Baelfire’s death. The child had wandered into the wrong part of a poorly-regulated library and stumbled upon a book that contained the demon currently slumbering inside her. Much like she, Baelfire suffered a seemingly innocuous cut from a page of the book.

He’d developed rapid mood swings, raging and crying one moment, manically happy the next, lashing out and becoming violent and ill, complaining of pains that no medicine his father tried could cure.

Pains that were inside his skull.

After three days, the boy was nothing more than a shell, brain-dead from the possession, and a special doctor had to be called in to—

Belle closed the book, horrified. She looked at Rhys, who was regarding her with undisguised grief.

“Now you know.”

“I’m… I’m sorry.”

He cut a hand through the air. “Save your words; they won’t bring him back.”

“Was this doctor a real person?”

“Yes, why?” He said, a dangerous note in his voice. “Want to ask him the specifics?”

She frowned. “No. I’m just surprised that someone would be willing to do something like that without trying alternate routes first.

He gave a bitter laugh. “Not everyone is as kind-hearted as you, and most would prefer to see a problem eliminated before it gets worse.” He shifted. “And besides, he’s the one who’s usually called to put them down when it becomes too much.”

Belle closed her eyes, dropping her head into her hand. She knew he was hurting, but damn it, so was she. She was possessed, for god’s sake, bizarre as it was, and she was scared and exhausted and trying like mad to keep it together. 

Her whirring mind suddenly stopped, seeds of an idea forming.

_Eliminated before it gets worse…_

_Put them down when it becomes too much…_

“Rhys, who is the doctor?”

He narrowed his eyes at her. “Excuse me?”

“Does he specialize in that type of procedure?”

He stared at her for a moment, incredulous fury in his eyes before he got up, grabbing his cane and moving to the door. “We’re done here.”

“What?”

“We’re done, Miss French,” he said coldly.

“Rhys—“ 

“Get out.”

“I didn’t mean—“ 

“I said, get out! Get out of my house and take your damned robot with you. I want nothing more to do with you!”

Belle was frozen with shock, staring at him with her mouth agape.

“But—I need your help—“

“No.” He moved swiftly, grabbing her by the arm and hauling her out of the study.

“Rhys, wait, please. What did I do?”

He whirled on her, yanking her close by the arm he still gripped. “Gather your things and go.” And he shoved her away from him, hard enough to cause her to stumble and fall as he made his way back into the office, slamming the door behind him.

The book skidded out in front of her when she fell, and slid across the parquet a ways. She scrambled to get it just as Clerk ambled in rather hurriedly.

“Miss? What happened? Why are you on the floor?”

She got up, dusting her skirts off and fighting back tears. “We need to go.”

“We do?”

“Would you please gather my things from upstairs? I-I can’t—,“ she gasped on a sob. “Please, just do it.” 

“Of course, but—,”

“No. We’ll be leaving as soon as you finish. I’m sorry, Clerk, I’ll explain later.” 

They managed to hail an autotaxi, thanks to Clerk knowing where they actually were, and made their way back to the Library. It ended up being a bit of a long trip; Rhys’ house had been on the outskirts of Cinderpoint and Belle was chagrined that she’d spent a week there without ever asking where the hell he’d been keeping her.

To be fair, she was unconscious for most of it, so she supposed she’d forgive herself eventually.

What she couldn't figure out was what had offended Rhys so badly as to necessitate kicking both of them out.

Knowing her, it probably was something she said in his study during … well, she didn't know what to call it. Her episode?

_God..._  

When they finally reached the library, she felt as if her legs, and heart, were made of lead, and Clerk had to support her as they made their way inside and up to the small apartment.

He helped her settle on their tiny sofa, facing a set of long windows that overlooked part of the library’s main floor and circulation desk. She sank into the cushions, taking a moment to ponder how strange her life had become in the span of a week.

She reasoned that empires had crumbled in less time, and whole governments were dismantled around the world in the stroke of a pen, so really, a disruption in the form of a soul-possessing demon that took a week to fully manifest was slight in the grand scheme.

She gave a bitter laugh. Was this it speaking, or her?

She didn’t want to know.

Clerk ambled back with a steaming cup of tea, and she took it, taking comfort in the familiar brew and the tendrils of steam that curled up and dissipated around her nose as she sipped.

He sat next to her in companionable silence, but she knew he was his version of worried.

She turned to him, setting the cup down on the glass coffee table in front of them, and taking one of his hands in hers.

“I need to ask you something,” she began. “And I’m afraid that … this is going to be difficult, but please, promise that you’ll do what I ask if it becomes necessary?”

He tilted his head. “I’d prefer not to make a blind promise, Miss Belle, but … alright. I will listen and then do as you ask.” 

She smiled, a little tremulously. “Thank you.” Taking a deep breath, she began to tell him what had happened between her and Rhys, about the possession, his son and when she came to the part where she needed a favor, she paused to gather the courage to ask. 

“I … knew about his son.”

She pulled back, surprised. “You did? How? Did he tell you? I could barely get the words out of him.”

“No, he didn’t tell me. There’s a section of his library that has a few children’s books and there are a few daguerreotypes of a young child at various ages, but none of the child grown.”

She marveled at him, but it was unnecessary. He was constantly remarkable, this beloved automaton of hers, yet it occasionally surprised her how deep he actually went.

“Clerk … I’m going to do my best to remove this thing from me. I don’t intend to give up without a fight.”

She looked around her, at her little world and felt a frisson of panic at how close she was to losing it. She pushed it down and gave her attention back to her companion.

“But if I fail, I need—,” she cut off, sadness welling inside her, and she blinked rapidly to disperse the sudden tears. “I need you to do whatever it takes to see this doesn't hurt anyone else.”

“What precisely are you asking of me?” Clerk said, his voice tight.

“I’m asking you to do what’s necessary. Find Mr. Gold if you can’t do it for some reason, I know … I know he’ll do it.”

_He cares little enough to be able to if you can’t._

“It’s a silly thing you’re asking, you’ll see.” Clerk turned his head away, but kept his hand in hers. “And a waste of time when there’s dusting and reshelving to do, so if you’ll excuse me, Miss, I must attend to my duties if we’re to open properly tomorrow.”

He stood and shuffled out, leaving Belle to drop her head into her hands and cry.


	8. Chapter 8

Belle spent the rest of her afternoon pacing and thinking, while Clerk bustled downstairs. An idea had been formulating in her mind but was interrupted when Rhys decided he’d had enough of her in his home, and she spent time gathering the frayed ends of the thought, trying to weave them back together.

The knowledge that Rhys had called in a specialized physician floored her, and she wondered if she could find him. If only the book had—

_Wait_.

She still had the book, didn’t she? Yes, she still had _both_ books: the one from Rhys, and the one that started this bloody mess.

Belle left the apartment and went to the main floor. “Clerk?” She called, spotting him with his cart at the corner that connected reference and speculative fiction. “Do you have _Dark Sight_ still?”

He looked up. “Of course, Miss. It’s catalogued but still in the reshelving queue.” He pulled the volume from the stack on the top of the cart and handed it to her.

“Thank you.” She turned towards the large circulation desk, but his voice stopped her.

“Might I ask what you need the book for?”

“It’s part of the promise I made you.” She smiled sadly. “That and one from the Basement should help me figure this out.”

She made her way downstairs, after grabbing gloves from a drawer of the circulation desk, and half-expected her code not to work as she rolled the dial to the usual numbers, but the gears on the lower half of the door shifted and rolled back the lock tumblers to allow her entry. It made her think of Rhys.

Pushing thoughts of him away, she moved to the back shelf she knew housed the book she needed.

And there it was, its black and silver spine flush with the rest of the books surrounding it, yet it called to Belle like an unfamiliar language shouting over a common tongue. She couldn't even remember how the book came to be part of the Basement collection.

No matter. She reached up, carefully sliding _Volubilis Tenebris_ from it’s spot, and opened it gingerly, easily finding the page that had cut her such a short time ago. It still had a bit of blood on the edge, and the blood looked as fresh as if she were newly injured.

It made her skin crawl with resentment and disgust, and she was ashamed of herself for her carelessness. If she’d just been in less of a hurry—

She took a deep breath, forcing the thought away. No sense in berating herself over what happened. She would figure out how to fix this, and one way or the other, would rid the world of this awful thing inside her.

Once she was settled at her desk, she perused _Dark Sight_ , setting the other book aside. 

She dug through the hyperbole to the subtext underneath, trying to pull out enough information about the doctor to find a way to contact him.

In the book, he was only referred to vaguely as “our personal Dr. Frankenstein”, which was her biggest clue and triggered a memory from her days at University studying Mechanical Alchemy.

It was a branch of medical research devoted to the mechanics of the human body, and how to use the combined laws of robotics, physics and medicine to do things that were generally forbidden in their society, unless specific instruction was granted from the appropriate legal and ethical sources. 

Secret things that her basement was used to guard. As a Librarian, it was necessary for her to understand what her Basement consisted of, purely for protection and academic purposes, but the idea running through Belle’s head was one she needed to keep from the council, the government, even Clerk until it was absolutely necessary for them to know.

And that necessity would come if she didn't survive.

She pushed the thought away and kept digging, until she stumbled across a detail that connected with a story she heard in college.

_…Ash blonde, haunted eyes, and he moves like the blood of a thousand souls stains every step, which was more true than I could know…_

“I knew it,” she whispered. It was Dr. Whale.

Dr. Victor Whale was somewhat infamous in certain circles, and had been held up as a cautionary tale during her schooling. He’d once been a devoted student of the same alchemical studies as Belle, but had taken it to a darker direction, all for the love of his life.

He’d broken the law, several ethical sanctions, and his own heart in his quest to save the woman he loved. The more romantic classmates of Belle’s had said he called her his dark angel. She had been tall, willowy, ethereal, and he had loved her fiercely.

He’d also ripped her heart out of her chest in an effort to keep a fatal defect from killing her.

Dr. Whale had intended to replace her faulty aortic valve with a mechanical one, thus saving her life. His experiment would have been a success, but he miscalculated the amount of electric current needed to revive her after her heart had been replaced in her chest.

She’d been electrocuted to death.

It was grudgingly ruled an accident, after considerable financial pressure on the right people from his father but he was stripped of his license, title, and commendations and barely escaped with his life. 

He’d gone into hiding, presumed insane from grief, and it had been ten years since anyone had last seen him in public, but Belle wasn’t dissuaded. It would just take a bit of effort to find Dr. Whale and likely more still to convince him to do what she needed.

Because she wanted him to rip out _her_ heart, too.

She’d just have to fib a little, that’s all. And break some ethical rules as well. And probably some laws.

Well, definitely some laws. But this sleeping presence in her mind was too dangerous. She might die at Dr. Whale’s hands, but she would absolutely die if she let this thing manifest, and so would many others if it killed her and then released itself back into the world.

_Time to lie to the ICEC, then._


	9. Chapter 9

She’d spent the rest of her evening using Rhys’ book to her advantage, telling herself she’d allot time for guilt if she survived after this was all over.

Gleaning bits of information from the book, and embellishing a little, she’d managed to manufacture what she thought was compelling evidence that she needed to speak with Dr. Whale, for the security of her Basement.

And by some ridiculous stroke of luck that she didn’t quite understand, when she woke next day, the council had replied to her request for more information on him, even going so far as to provide her with the most recent known address for the disgraced doctor.

Belle dressed in record time, dashing downstairs with the address clutched in her hand and nearly colliding with a couple of patrons in her haste.

Clerk stopped her near the revolving entrance door. “Miss Belle! Are you quite alright?”

She stumbled back a little. “Yes, yes, I’m fine. I… need to run an errand, is all. Please apologize to them for me.” She tried to continue out the door, but he detained her further.

“I’d be glad to run the errand for you, Miss. Why don’t you rest at the circulation desk? You seem a bit flushed.” He reached for the paper she held and she pulled it away swiftly. 

“No!” Belle cringed; she hadn’t meant to shout, but she was in a rush. Still, she didn’t need him suspicious of her and contacting anyone about her odd behavior. “No,” she repeated, gentling her voice and tamping down on her guilt over lying to him. “It’s a simple thing, I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

“Alright. Just, be safe.” She could tell he was skeptical. No matter; she had a job to do, an address, and by the looks of it, she’d need plenty of time to get there.

On the ride over, she began trying to establish some sort of pattern as to how this being inside her operated. She was exhibiting the same symptoms that Baelfire had; mood swings, severe head pain that her accident couldn't quite explain, violent outbursts.

And then the thing had taken over, and probably scared Rhys too much to let her stay. It hurt, but she was beginning to understand.

It seemed to latch onto her darker feelings, taking upset and instigating rage, sadness and provoking despair; no wonder people went mad and had to be, well, basically mercy-killed. It was kinder than letting them suffer more at the hands of this evil… whatever it was.

From what Belle could tell, it just wanted destruction and didn’t seem to care how it achieved that. Being a prisoner of her own mind, while terrifying, was oddly enlightening, and she was grateful that her naturally deep curiosity was able to temporarily overwhelm the fear of being subjugated again.

Lost in her thoughts, Belle didn’t notice they’d arrived until the steam-powered hack came to a juddering stop in front of a large, foreboding mansion.

“This is where he’s supposed to live?” She muttered to herself in disbelief. “Whatever happened to being cut off from the family fortune?”

The driver hopped down and opened the door, helping her out. She paid him and he clambered back up, driving off quicker than she was prepared for. As he left, she got a glimpse of an expensive-looking white vehicle parked off to the side of the drive, feeling a tingle of recognition.

Belle shook it off. The car was no matter, and neither was the  appearance house which apparently frightened the hack driver. She had come for a specific reason and it was time to seek out answers.

She made her way up to the large door, eyeing the gargoyle knocker warily. It worked easily enough, and she could hear the heavy thud of her knocking echo through to the foyer within.

The door was soon pulled open, evidently quite heavy from the look of irritation on the face of the man who had answered her knock.

He was bald, clad in his shirtsleeves and vest, smartly tailored pants, but scuffed black shoes.

The man gave Belle a quick swipe of his eyes. “Yes?” He said curtly.

She squared her shoulders and looked at him directly. “Is Dr. Whale here?”

He scoffed. “Not for you, girl. Leave.” He tried to the shut the door, but Belle threw a hand out, slapping her palm against the wood.

“It’s imperative that I see him, please.”

“I said no. Kindly remove yourself.” He pushed harder against the door in an effort to dislodge her.

“It’s an alchemical matter.”

The man froze, eyeing her warily. “And what would that have to do with Dr. Whale?”

Belle smiled, triumphant. “He’ll want to know about this. Trust me.”

The man scoffed again. “No chance of that, but,” his eyes flicked over her again and he smirked nastily, “I’ll let him boot you out himself.”

He pulled the door open just enough to let her slight form in, giving a mocking little bow as she entered.

“Thank you,” Belle said stiffly, following him through a darkly marbled foyer and down a long stone hallway with old-fashioned candle sconces dotted along the walls.

They came to a set of double doors, wrought iron with intricate, swirling patterns over warped, green-hued glass, and through them she could see a set of blurred stairs winding up to a long platform.

“What’s your name?”

“Belle French.”

He nodded. “Wait here.” The man quickly opened and shut a door behind him and Belle watched his distorted form climb the steps until he was out of her sight.

She sighed, the noise echoing slightly in the corridor, and did her best to quell her nerves as she waited.

Her heart rate picked up when she saw the form of the man make his way back down the steps, nervous at the impending answer.

The door opened wide, and the man regarded her without the scowl he’d sported since she arrived.

“The doctor will see you.” He held an arm out, a clear gesture for her to enter, and Belle cautiously stepped through the doorway, and fell into step behind the man again.

He turned to regard her over his shoulder as the walked. “My name is Igor. Forgive my former rudeness, Miss. We’re just quite careful with unknown guests here.”

Belle smiled in spite of her ever-increasing nerves. “It’s perfectly alright. I’m quite cautious within my own profession, especially when someone comes trampling up to my door demanding entry. It’s nice to meet you, Igor.”

They were silent the rest of the way, and Belle's nerves had just begun to dissipate when she heard the familiar clacking of a cane as it moved across the floor.

She froze. It can’t be.

“Miss French.”

Belle pulled herself up straight, trying to keep the shock from her face. “Good day, Mr. Gold.”

“I had a feeling you’d come here.”

She glared at him. “How nice for you. Excuse me.” She tried to push past him, but he grabbed her arm.

“Belle, I—“

“Let go of me, Mr. Gold.” His hold loosened but he didn't release her. “I said let go—“

“Oh, just let her go, Gold.” 

Belle looked around Rhys, her eyes alighting on a sandy-haired, stern-faced man towards the back of the platform. She pulled her arm free and stepped around to meet him.

“Dr. Whale?”

He gave a brief nod, but didn’t look at her, keeping his focus on the panel before him. “The one and only.”

Belle heaved a sigh of relief, moving to where he stood. “I need to speak with you about something. Is there somewhere we can go that’s more private? An office, perhaps?”

“No need. I know exactly why you’re here and the answer is ‘no’.” He spoke without looking at her, continuing to fiddle with knobs.

“But … how could you possibly know?”

“Gold has alerted me to your plans. I will have no part of this … not again.”

“You don’t understand—“

He finally looked up, his gaze sharp and full of pain. “No, I think it’s you who doesn't understand, Miss French.” He pushed away from the panel and moved to a series of tall vials filled with varying types of liquids. “What you ask, it’s … impossible for me to do.”

“‘Impossible’? What did he tell you?” She said suspiciously. She felt the stirrings of panic, and tried to tamp it down, taking a deep breath.

_No, not now. Please not now._

“He told me enough.”

She whirled around, pinning Rhys with a betrayed stare and advancing on him.

“How dare you.”

He stared right back, not even having the grace to look repentant.

“What even gives you the right to interfere?” She said, her hands balled into fists at her sides. “Last I checked, you didn't want to have anything to do with me anymore, or did you conveniently forget that fact?”

And inside her mind, something stirred. She gasped, fear lancing through her, as Rhys stepped closer.

“Because, damn you, I know what you’re thinking, and I won’t let you do this. We can find another way.”

“How the hell would you know what I’m thinking?” She said through clenched teeth. “You’re meddling where … where you don’t—belong.”

She swayed on her feet as the last grasp of control slipped away, and she raised unfocused eyes to his face. “It’s awake,” she whispered.

“Belle?”

She let out a yell, collapsing to her knees on the cold metal floor as she pressed her palms against the side of her head in a futile attempt to stop the pain that lanced through her skull in droves, shooting lightening across her vision.

She heard the men around her call out to her, and felt Rhys’ arm as he reached for her, but their voices grew fainter and fainter as she felt herself be pushed to the back of her mind, quicker and easier than before. The thing inside her rushed up to meet the assembled men with something akin to glee, and Belle was forced to watch.

It stood, grinning at them and darting Belle’s tongue out to wet her lips.

_“Hello…Rhys Gold.”_ It took a few halting steps forward, quickly gaining its balance in Belle’s form.

Dr. Whale and Igor backed away, pale and frightened at the creature before them wearing Belle like a suit, but Rhys stood firm, glaring murderous rage at the Belle-who-wasn’t as it came practically nose to nose with him.

_“You don’t look happy to see me.”_ It pouted before smiling inhumanly wide, splitting Belle’s face almost painfully.

“I’ll be happy when you’re eradicated from existence, demon.”

A finger stroked down his cheek, and he jerked his head away. _“So hostile. I will keep my promise, and devour her like I devoured your son.”_

He smiled, a grin as evil as the one the thing had put on Belle’s face. “I’ll see you turned to ash, you filthy wretch.”

It swept Belle’s eyes over the room and landed on Dr. Whale. Belle felt it retract itself and fish around in her mind before pulling back and smiling at the doctor.

_“So you keep company with murderers now, Rhys Gold? Wouldn’t your son be disappointed in you.”_

Whale gasped, backing up further. “What the hell is this, Gold?”

The thing giggled and turned its attention back to Rhys. Belle could feel it begin to retract the coils around her mind and fought in earnest to loosen them that much quicker. 

_“See you soon.”_


	10. Chapter 10

She was shoved, this time, back into possession of herself and the mental force was great enough to cause her to stumble, Rhys’ arms automatically coming up to catch her. She clutched at him, the only sound in the room her labored breathing. He pressed his lips to her forehead gently as she caught her breath.

“Get out,” Whale whispered vehemently from behind them. “Get the hell out of here, now.”

“Oh, not this again,” Belle groaned, pushing off of Rhys with effort. She was growing weary of these types of exchanges. “Dr. Whale—“

“Igor, get them out of here.” 

“Dr. Whale, please, please just listen to me—“

“No.” He said, eyes wild with fury and distrust. “How dare you bring that into my laboratory.” He turned to his servant. “Igor! Remove them!”

Igor just stared at Belle, his brow furrowed. She stared back, pleading silently with him.

“No,” he said quietly.

Whale whipped his head around. “Excuse me?”

Igor walked to Belle, scrutinizing her, but not unkindly. “I said, ‘no’, Master.”

“You forget yourself, Igor. You are to do as I say.”

“I believe we need to help her. Help them both.”

Whale threw up his hands. “This is madness. I will do it myself.” He made a direct line for Belle and Rhys, but Igor turned quickly, stopping him with a hand on his chest.

“I’m sorry, Master, and sack me if you must, but we have to do this.” He looked the doctor in the eye. “You’ve been searching for redemption for years. This might be it, right at your feet.”

Whale glared at him angrily. “No, this,” he gestured to Belle and Rhys, “this is a sure path to destruction, worse than before.”

“Miss Lucas would want you to try.”

Whale sucked in a breath on a hiss. “How dare you,” he said, his voice full of betrayal, and he grabbed Igor’s shirt in his fist. “You don’t know that. You can’t know that. She’s dead, she can’t want anything anymore.”

“You’re wrong. She’d have wanted you to try. I’m certain of it.”

Whale pushed away, his face stricken and eyes filling with tears. He rushed to the panel, hunching over it and gripping the edges until his knuckles turned white.

Belle had been holding tight to Rhys, but released him and moved to Whale, placing a hand gently on his shoulder.

“You still love her, after all this time.”

He sniffed and pulled himself upright. “She was my life. When I … lost her, I lost my reason to live.”

“Yet you’re still here,” Belle said gently. 

“Not for lack of trying,” Whale muttered, casting a dark glance over his shoulder at Igor.

“I would have loved to meet her, your Ruby.”

He gave a sad, soft laugh. “She would have liked you. Same spirit, same … fight.”

“Then you can understand why I have to try.” She turned him to face her. “Please, you’re the only one who can do what needs to be done.”

His gaze was weary. “It could go wrong again. I could make another miscalculation, are you sure you want to take that chance?” 

“Yes. Double, triple check everything, have Igor check after you’ve checked. You’re my best chance.”

He stopped. “You’re a fool,” he said without heat. “When would you like to do this?”

“As soon as possible.”

He nodded. “I have to gather my materials, but I can perform the procedure tomorrow, in the evening.”

She squeezed his hand. “Thank you.”

“It would be best if you stayed here overnight, are you amenable to that? I can have Igor prepare you a room.”

Belle nodded. “I intended to stay, regardless, until you were convinced.” She smiled as he walked away, chuckling and motioning for Igor to follow.

Rhys had been silent during their exchange, but she could practically feel the waves of tension rolling off him when she walked over. “You look as if you’d seen a ghost,” she teased, but it fell flat.

“Belle,” he said, his face stricken, “please, don’t do this. We can find another way. Please tell me this isn't punishment for what happened.”

“I’m not punishing you, and we can’t worry about the rest right now. I have to do this,” she said, all trace of levity gone, and her heart clenched at the look on his face. “Rhys, it’s the only chance we have.”

He looked away, mumbling something under his breath.

“What was that?”

“I just—,” he hesitated, a pained look crossing his features, “I just… found you. And now I may lose you.”

Her heart did an odd little flip in her chest. “Rhys… what are you saying?”

“Belle.” He said her name like a prayer, bringing a hand up to cup her cheek, his thumb gently tracing the soft curve. “You’ve bewitched me, sweetheart. Since the moment I saw you, until I could see nothing but you”

She shook her head. “You said you never wanted to see me again.”

“I know.” He frowned. “I’m an ass, Belle. I was hurting and you… took the brunt of it.”

She brought her hand up to cover his. “No, I-I should have been more understanding. I should have told you of my idea.”

He gave a low chuckle. “It’s probably best that you didn’t. I’d never have let you go.” He sighed. “Can you forgive me?”

She looked up at him, his warm brown eyes full of affection and a tiny, hopeful smile playing at the corners of his beautiful mouth.

“On one condition.” She said.

“Anything.”

“Kiss me.”

His eyes widened and he smiled, a crooked, appealing little grin that sent a tingle down her spine. “So demanding, Miss French. Are you always this—”

Whatever he had planned to ask was lost as she bridged the small distance between then and pressed her lips to his. He made a small sound of surprise before recovering and casting his cane to the floor.

The clatter distracted her for a brief second. “Rhys, your—”

“Leave it,” he growled, sealing his mouth against hers once again, and sliding his arms around her to pull her flush against his body. She slipped her hands into his hair, letting them play and fist in the soft strands, tugging gently as he coaxed her lips apart to tease her tongue with his own.

She whimpered at the sensation; the wet, silken glide sending heat racing through her to pool low in her belly. She twined her tongue with his, trying to give back some of what she was given, and he moaned, low and dark, sliding the hand on the small of her back down to the swell of her buttocks, pressing her hips into his. She gasped at the feel of him against her; the masculine press of him scattering her wits like leaves in a gust of wind.

She moaned into this mouth, trying to press her body closer, but felt him begin to retreat, to slow down, and she made a small, disappointed sound in her throat.

He tapered off with gentle nips, kissing a path to her cheek and nuzzling her as he held her in his arms. 

She felt lightheaded and giddy, and hummed as he brushed the shell of her ear with his nose. 

“W-why did you stop?”

He squeezed her. “Because, darling, you deserve much better than a cold metal floor.”

_Much better than…_

 “Oh.” Belle’s cheeks flamed in embarrassed realization.

He chuckled, pulling back to regard her. “Yes.”

“Well… Dr. Whale is having a room prepared.” She glanced at him shyly through her lashes.

He closed his eyes and pressed his forehead to hers. “Don’t tempt me, sweetheart.” He pressed a quick kiss to her lips, still swollen from his earlier attentions. “When this is all over, I’m going to properly court you, as a gentleman should.”

Belle felt dread settle heavy in her gut at his words. “Rhys, what if… what if I’m wrong? What if it fails?” She clutched at his lapels. “I’m frightened. I’ve tried not to be, but I am.”

He gathered her close again tucking her head against his chest. “Then I’ll just have to come find you myself.” He said. She could hear the forced lightness in his voice. 

“You’ll come running, hmm?”

“More like a brisk stroll.”

She laughed, but it was forced and short. They fell silent, clinging to one another until Igor entered and interrupted them, offering to escort Belle to her room to rest for the following day.

“Rhys, you will come tomorrow, yes?” She whispered as they walked towards the front of the mansion.

“Of course.” They stopped at the stairs, Igor moving off to give them a moment. “You won’t be alone for a minute tomorrow.”

“Only to dress, I hope.” She smirked.

He snorted. “You have awful timing, do you know that?”

She shrugged. “Humor helps.” She waited a beat before giving in, slipping her arms around him and cuddling against him like a child. He held her for a moment, tightening briefly before letting her go. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

Belle moved off, following Igor upstairs. He promised a dinner tray would be sent up, and that her room was full of books if she wished to read. Belle shook her head, merely requesting paper and pen to write a letter to Clerk. Igor nodded, promising to dispatch posthaste whatever she gave him.

He left her at the room, and she settled in as best she could, lighting lamps, turning down the bed, wishing she’d had the foresight to bring a change of clothes. No matter, she’d make do, and it wouldn’t matter one way or the other tomorrow, anyway.

Igor returned soon with the promised tray, paper, and fountain pen, placing them on a little writing desk by a window in the far corner of the room. Belle gave him a distracted thanks, and set to writing, picking at the meal as she went.

She quickly crafted a will, of sorts. Belle had read books on the subject, and had been made to sit through the reading of her parents’ will. She had learned, despite the sorrow, and decided now that she’d prefer at least a bit of posthumous control, should this ambitious experiment fail.

And she was so worried it would.

Her next letter was one to Clerk. She rubbed her temples, wanting to run full-tilt out the door into the night rather than write to him, but she owed him an explanation for what he’d find in the will.

Once finished, she set the letter and the tray back outside her room, keeping the will with her, knowing that someone would find it among her things tomorrow if it became necessary.

Feeling a weariness beyond her bearing, she disrobed slowly for bed, choosing to sleep in her shift. Laying across the bed, she pillowed her head on her arms and gazed at the shadows on the ceiling cast by the lone lamp still burning on the bedside table. 

Once she would have made up stories to go along with the shadows, like other children would make up beasts in the clouds. Now, she only saw potential for doom, having lived through shadows black as tar staining the inside of her mind, making her wonder, what would happen if she just gave in? If she let it take her and use her as it saw fit? Perhaps she would suffer, but perhaps she wouldn’t. 

She rolled to her side, gazing into the gas flame of the lamp, letting the light imprint on her retinas so that when her lids slid shut in each slow, tired blink, the reflection of the flame was the last thing she saw. She watched until exhaustion made her vision waver and her eyelids heavy, in the hopes that the light would invade her dreams and keep what might be her last night alive free from nightmares.


	11. Chapter 11

Belle’s eyes opened to her dimly lit room, the lamp still burning where she left it, just a smaller flame as the gas dwindled over the hours. She didn’t remember dreaming, and was thankful for it, but couldn't understand why she was awake. She only knew that she was done sleeping, at least for the moment.

She took the lamp and got to her feet, padding quietly to the door. She cast a glance around the empty hallway, seeing that Igor had taken her tray sometime while she had been sleeping, and the letter along with it. Slipping out into the corridor, she moved silently down the stairs, the flicker of the lamp offering enough light to keep her from falling. 

Belle didn’t know where she was going, or what she was looking for, but something compelled her to keep moving, and she followed the flickering shadows cast by the lamp down a hallway, eerily reminiscent of another hallway, in a much warmer home, with an occupant she had quickly come to hold in her heart.

She gave a bitter, solitary smile. How maudlin all of this was making her. She wasn't normally prone to extraordinary sentiment, but, she supposed that facing one’s potential demise would have a way of bringing that out in a person.

The hallway was long, too long by her estimation, but perhaps that was the shadows cast around her, that she was beginning to treat like old friends in her mind.

What else did they hold? Were they harbingers of awful things like what slept in her mind? Or were they just as simple as they could seem?

Another flicker of light caught her attention, and she followed it to a door open just a crack. She smiled; she wouldn't be bursting into this room tonight, but she was curious to see who was there and pushed the door open with a gentle touch, hoping not to disturb whomever was occupying the space.

The hinges gave a slight creak as she pushed, and she cringed as she saw a seated form in an armchair near a fireplace stir for a moment. They settled back down and she moved into the room, walking as quietly as possible to see who was sleeping.

The fire had burned to coals, casting a warm glow over the hearth. It was enough light to discern who was in the chair, and she drew in a surprised breath to see Rhys asleep in one of the deep, plush chairs arranged around the fireplace. It was a chair big enough for two, she noticed with a small smile.

Drawing closer to him, she reached a hand out to brush a lock of hair that had fallen across his forehead in his sleep. His brow twitched and he made a tired sound when she touched him, but settled quickly as she made a small shushing noise.

He was so beautiful to her, so peaceful in sleep, and her heart gave a painful thump. She leaned down, pressing her lips lightly to his forehead, intending to leave him be right after, but her touch woke him.

“Belle.”

His voice was rough from sleep and she smiled, brushing the back of her fingers across his cheek before leaning in and pressing a small kiss to his lips.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to disturb you.” She whispered. “I couldn’t sleep any longer.”

He brought a hand up to trail his fingertips across her cheek, his eyes warm and sad as they gazed into hers.

They were so close, just a breath away from each other, and she suddenly longed to feel his arms around her, to feel the comfort of his body pressed against hers. She nearly pulled away at the thought, out of some misguided sense of propriety, but stopped herself.

What was preventing her from taking something she wanted and giving the same in return? Certainly not tomorrow.

She climbed into his lap, her thighs hugging his and startling him, and froze for a moment in uncertainty. “Rhys?”

He hesitated for a brief moment before sliding his hands along her thighs, around to her buttocks and pulling her more fully onto his lap in silent agreement.

The only sounds in the room were the rustle of their clothes as pieces were moved aside, and their lightly rasping breaths as they quietly took and gave pleasure.

His hands slid up to fist in her shift as she moved over him, and she was suddenly filled with a sad, piercing pain where they joined. She moved through it, accepting it as her due and pressing her mouth to his to soother herself in his kiss.

He brought a hand between them, fingers moving over her, bringing her to a point where the pain faded in a rush, to be replaced by something that flooded her senses with joy, making her shake and gasp and clutch him to her like a lifeline, gloriously helpless to the sensations he worked through her.

Her pleasure triggered his own and his grip mimicked hers; desperate, almost clawing as he pressed his face against her breast and temporarily relinquished his tether to reality.

They held each other tightly for several moments, until their breathing slowed, and the _pop_ of an ember in the hearth made them jump, and laugh softly at the little fright.

She shifted in his lap, wincing a little and he murmured endearments to her, helping her to arrange herself in a more comfortable position tucked in next to him. She felt a small tug on her scalp and realized he’d undone the braid she’d chosen for bed, and closed her eyes in bliss as he ran his fingers through her curls.

Lulled by his gentle ministrations, she soon fell into a deep and mercifully dreamless sleep.

* * *

 

When Belle woke again, it was to the sight of sunlight filling the odd guest suite she occupied, the rays landing on the desk she used the night before

She felt unusually rested, considering her escapades in the middle of the night, and stretched a bit to remove the bits of sleep still lingering in her body. Her leg muscles protested, and a tiny smile curved her lips. If it wasn’t for those odd little aches and the slight soreness between her thighs, the entire thing would have felt like a dream.

But it wasn’t, and neither were the coming events of the day. She sobered quickly, pushing herself out of bed and dressing with a quiet economy as she observed herself in the mirror dispassionately.

She’d put the finishing touches on her simple hairstyle when the door rattled with a knock. Grabbing her sealed will, she moved to answer the door and felt a jolt to see Rhys on the other side, looking impeccable in a charcoal herringbone suit.

Belle’s cheeks heated as she gazed at him, and she ducked her head. “Hello.”

He smiled. “Good morning, sweetheart. Did you sleep well?”

“Yes, thank you.” She stepped into the hallway, shutting the door with a _snick_. “Did—“

She’d turned to inquire the same of him, but ended up practically pressed against his chest.

“—you?”

His smile turned a little wistful. “Quite well, yes.” He leaned in to press a small kiss to her cheek before drawing back and offering his arm. “May I escort you downstairs?”

She took his arm and they made their way slowly down the hall. His gait was a bit more uneven and she frowned.

“Did I hurt you?”

He glanced at her. “What?”

“Your limp, it seems to bother you more today.” She bit her lip. “Is that because of… of last night?”

He ducked his head, not quite hiding a little smile. “If it were, that’s a price I’d be glad to pay.”

“Was it an accident?”

“That caused my limp? Yes. Childhood run-in with a carriage. I was lucky to escape with my life, so sustaining only a shattered ankle was a blessing.”

Whale and Igor met them in the foyer, both looking stoic enough to give Belle pause.

“Gentlemen.” Rhys guided her gracefully to the landing, but kept her hand tucked securely in the crook of his arm.

“Gold.” Whale nodded to him, then turned to Belle. “I’ve gathered the necessary materials. Are you ready?”

Rhys gawped at him. “You aren’t even going to let her have breakfast first? Just rush right into this blasted thing?”

Whale scowled. “This is her idea, if you’ll recall. I’d think she would want to get started quickly.”

“Rhys,” Belle said, turning to him and putting her other hand on his arm. “It’s alright, truly. I’m ready.” She gazed into his face, committing to memory the details of his unusual handsomeness. She leaned forward and pressed a small kiss just to the side of his lips. “I promise.”

“We can still find another way.” His pained whisper tore at her heart.

“No. This is the only way.” She pressed her forehead to his. “Just please, stay with me?”

“As promised. I won’t leave you for a second, Belle.”

She nodded, turning back to Whale.

“Shall we begin?”


	12. Chapter 12

The metal slab of Whale’s operating table was cold under her shift as she sat, but he’d given her a medical blanket, for both the sake of modesty and temperature, and she’d pulled it up to her chest, watching him as he moved about the room, explaining the various instruments and their uses to Rhys and her. 

She didn’t think Rhys was paying much attention, shifting his weight from foot to foot in agitation as he stood near her, but her gaze was rapt on Whale.

He was to remove her heart, after all, and suspend her animation for a brief flicker of time, jolting her back to life, hopefully with harnessed electrical current from the storm that was currently threatening to roll over them. She’d better pay attention and know exactly what she was in for.

“Now, Belle, after you’re put under, you’ll remain that way as long as medically possible without jeopardizing your heath upon waking. I have to warn you, it is likely that you will fall comatose afterwards, if we’re successful. But it should only be for a short while.” Whale had moved from an apprehensive exile to a succinct and capable physician and Belle was thankful.

Rhys whirled on the doctor. “Comatose? What in the hell do you mean, she’ll be _comatose?_ ”

“It’s the body’s way of protecting itself when the circulation to the brain is interrupted. Removing the heart will do that,” he said dryly. “Despite the artificial pump we’ll be using to keep her heart viable,” he pointed to a metal contraption with a series of flexible tubes protruding in several directions, some connected to a large glass vat of yellowish liquid, “she’s going to be legally dead for as long as I can manage without actually killing her.

“My god.”

He ignored Rhys, instead focusing on Belle. “When the time comes to return your heart, I’ll use the harnessed electricity to shock it back into a natural rhythm.” Belle paled for a moment, and Whale leaned closer. “I have checked my calculations, and so has Igor. This part will not fail.”

She nodded, gulping.

He looked up, squinting, through the room’s high skylights. “Ideally, the storm will come on strong, and I can capture the lightening for our purpose.” He moved to the machine that would keep her heart, Igor already turning a handled wheel. “If there isn’t enough lightening to harness, then what we’re able to generate here should be enough.”

“Should? _Should?_ ” Rhys was practically shouting. “This is sounding more ridiculous by the minute. I will not stand here and let you do some sort of—of amateur hack job, especially when it could kill her!”

“Then you are welcome to leave.” Whale shot back, getting close enough to spit the words at Rhys. “But you made her a promise, remember?”

“I didn’t promise to stand by while you mutilated her like you did the last one!”

Whale grabbed Rhys’ lapels. “What the hell would you know about it, Gold?”

“I know enough.”

“You want to talk about enough? How about your son—“

“Enough!”

Both men turned at the sound of Belle’s shout.

“How dare you. Both of you!” She slid down from the table and padded over to them, fire in her eyes. “This is not some trifling thing we’re doing here. Or did you forget that in your stupid… stupid maleness!”

The men in question regarded each other guiltily as she fumed aloud. 

“One of you has to remove my blasted heart and the other has to hold my hand and watch! So please, can you put a lid on your theatrics long enough to just get this damn thing over with?”

She turned and hopped back up onto the table, scowling. Igor eyed her from his spot with admiration.

“She’s right.” He said, smirking.

Rhys sighed. “Of course she is, Igor. Women usually are.”

“Glad someone noticed.” Belle said on a huff.

“My apologies, Whale.”

“Mine as well, Gold.”

They shook hands hesitantly, both still looking sheepish, as Belle settled herself on the table, lying down and adjusting for her comfort.

Rhys moved to her, taking her hand and kissing the back of it. “I’m sorry, sweetheart.”

She squeezed. “It’s alright. Tempers can run high in you lot, I know.” She nuzzled into his hand as he stroked a strand of hair away from her brow. “You’ll be here when I wake up?”

“I promise.”

“Good.” She tugged him down for a kiss, their lips meeting softly and lingering. “When this is all over, you owe me a bed, Sir.”

He caught her meaning, and laughed softly. “Come back to me and I’ll give you the world.”

“Deal.”

Whale walked over, a mask attached to a tube in his hand. “Are we ready?”

Belle felt a rush of adrenaline, and nodded. “What do I need to do?”

“Breathe deeply when I tell you to. The gas through this mask will put you to sleep and keep you there until we’ve finished.” He placed the mask over her mouth and nose, and Igor held it steady with a gentle hand. Belle breathed in the slightly sweet, thick air and felt herself grow immediately drowsy. “Count backwards from one-hundred, Belle.

She murmured in assent. “One-hundred, ninety-nine, ninety-eight… ninety-seven…”

Before she slipped away, she felt Rhys’ lips on the back of her hand.

* * *

While Belle was falling into a medicated sleep, Whale was maneuvering around the lab, turning dials, flicking the switches to set pumps regulating, and periodically checking the sky.

Igor kept the time on his pocket watch, and nodded to Whale when Belle had been sufficiently doused. “Ready, Doctor.” He removed the mask, and slid curtains propped on poles to each side of the slab, effectively blocking Rhys’ view.

“Is this necessary? Why can’t I see her?"

Whale came around one of the curtains, pulling on gloves as Igor tied a medical robe around him. He pinned Rhys with a sympathetic look. “Gold, I don’t think you want to see this. It’s not an easy business.” He moved away. “I need to start, I’m sorry. Please, have a seat in the parlor. Igor will fetch you if anything goes wrong.”

“But I promised her…”

“Being in the next room isn’t breaking that promise. Now, go.”

Whale pulled another curtained pole around, effectively shutting Rhys out. He went down the stairs, making his way into the parlor he’d shared with Belle the previous evening, and sat in their chair. His heart clutched as he remembered the feel of her, the light weight in his lap and her smooth skin under his hands.

He’d been mesmerized by her, the fierce little thing; delightfully shocked when she took the reins easily from his weak grasp and gave herself to him. It was only fair, for she took the soul from his body, her tenderness stripping him bare.

Would he never get to feel that again? That feeling of finding home, finding the one you _belonged_ with? His heart sang out for Belle, since the first day he saw her, her feathers all ruffled as he intruded on her precious space. And then kissing her, making love to her… she was his harmony.

There was so much left to share with her, to _show_ her, but she could still slip so easily away if something went wrong.

The _thing_ inside her… he wanted to rip it out with his bare hands and strangle the life from it, watch the light fade from its eyes. But it didn’t have eyes; It was possessing Belle, using her beautiful blue ones as vessels to communicate its hate. Her sweet mouth and lovely voice spoke harsh, vile things because _it_ needed a host.

_Just like it did to Bae…_

His sweet boy, stolen from him at twelve years old. He’d be about Belle’s age by now. Probably more handsome than his Papa, and smarter, too. His little light. What he would sacrifice to have that once more.

He leaned back in the chair; warm tears slid from his eyes into the hair at his temples in a steady stream, and he lost his breath sobbing.

 _Please, Belle. Please come back to me_.


	13. Chapter 13

Belle’s eyes fluttered open and nearly shut again, but she managed to catch them on a watery wince as her sight adjusted to the surroundings.

It was bright. Very bright, but beginning to dim, and after a moment she could see she was in her library.

How had she gotten here? Had the surgery worked? Was she—

_Wait._

She pressed a hand to her chest, feeling oddly hollow. No beat thumped against her palm, and she gasped, yanking her hand back and staring at it, as if her heart would materialize in her palm.  
  
How was this possible?

“Oh, god. I’m dead, aren’t it?” She slapped a hand over her mouth, looking around wildly at the ridiculously familiar view. If she was dead, this was a perverted way to introduce either heaven or hell. Or perhaps purgatory? She’d never believed in all of that, but it didn’t mean she was right.

“Oh, calm down, you’re not dead. Not yet, anyway.”

She whipped around, trying to locate the source of the voice. A slim figure moved out from behind a bookshelf, clutching a familiar volume in its hand, and as Belle took a closer look, she saw with a shock that she was staring at herself.

Her doppelgänger raised an eyebrow. “Don’t you like the cage I made for you? Oh, perhaps you mean this?” It ( _she?_ ) gestured to itself. “I supposed it would be the easiest form to take while dealing with you, for however long this will last.”

Realization hit. “It’s—you. You’re the-the _thing_ inside me, aren’t you?”

“And soon to be outside again, yes.” It said, smiling with relish. “But if you don’t like this form, I can always pull another one. Like this perhaps?”

The thing switched to Clerk.

“Or this?”

Another switch: her mother.

“Oh! But wait, there’s _this_.”

Rhys.

“You _like_ this one, I can tell.”

“No. No, not him,” Belle pleaded.

“Why not, dearie?” It said, using Rhys’ voice to mock her, moving closer. “Wouldn’t you rather have a bit of fun before I eat you alive?”

Belle swallowed against a wave of nausea. “What are you?”

“Your true love, darling. Don’t you recognize me?” It sing-songed the words at her, deliberately mispronouncing to mock Belle. “Give us a kiss.”

It lunged for her, but Belle sidestepped, backing away quickly and putting tables between them.

“Foolish. You’re all _so_ foolish! Funny, really.” It waved a hand and the tables disappeared. “I create, and I destroy.” Another wave and It was back to mimicking Belle.

“The real question is, how did you fight me for so long, hmm? What’s your secret?” It advanced on her. “You’re as morally grey as anybody else, little Miss Sins-of-the-Flesh.” Belle gasped and It laughed. “What, you think I didn’t know? I live in your head, mortal.” It spat the word like a curse.

“Why me?” She moved away from the thing, but something felt _wrong_. Her movements were sluggish, limbs heavy and uncooperative.

It scoffed. “Why not? You’re as good a vessel as any, and I was bored.” It shrugged a shoulder. “Well, bored as one can be when one is an amorphous _Tenebris_ demon tethered to a tome.” It wiggled it’s fingers. “Hello.”

“Why are you toying with me?” Words were becoming a struggle, and she began to panic.

It moved so suddenly, Belle hardly had time to process before one hand was wrapped around her neck and she was staring into blue eyes slowly filling with black.

“ _Toying?_ I don’t _toy_ with my food. I’m impatiently waiting for you to _die_.” It squeezed her neck. “Your heart’s gone. You feel it, so I feel it. No pulse, no heartbeat, your brain is dying, and I will suck the essence out of you before it gets a chance to escape. That’s what you are, you know, in here. You’re just essence, and I’m the antithesis.”

Belle stared, horrified as it pulled its mouth back in a smile too wide to be anything but grotesque, baring teeth at her in horrific delight. “This is really going to hurt.”

Belle pushed against it feebly, fighting with the last ounce of strength she possessed to stave off oblivion just a little longer, but it jammed a hand through her chest, between her ribs where her heart would have been. She felt tendrils of icy cold snake their way through her chest, through her veins and capillaries, making their way through her system to obliterate her bit by bit.

They had failed. She had been wrong and they had failed, and now she was being devoured by a demon from the inside out.

“Rhys.” She pulled forth the memory of him, his kisses, the feel of his arms. If she was going to die, she would die with his name on her lips and his image in her mind.

She heard a faint noise, almost like someone calling her name, and thought it must be a hallucination from her overwrought, dying brain to calm her on her way to death. 

“ _Belle!_ ”

There it was again, but stronger this time.

“ _Come back to me, you stubborn thing!_ ”

A sudden, painful bolt shot through her, fire-hot and chasing away the ice flooding her veins in angry bursts. She cried out, collapsing to her knees, and so did the demon.

“No. _No!_ This isn’t supposed to happen!” It screeched, scrabbling to remove its arm from her chest.

Another fiery jolt, and Belle saw throbbing stars burst in her vision, but she welcomed the flaming pain; it gave her the strength to grab the arm of the demon, still sunk in her chest, and keep that thing connected to her, despite it’s wild tugging and thrashing

“No! Let go! _Let go_!” A stream of garbled words burst forth from its mouth, and Belle watched as it quickly shifted faces, like the images of a stereoscope rushing by, and realized it was the face of each person it had fully devoured over however many years it had been on earth.

A third jolt, and they both fell to the floor, Belle writhing and grasping in pain, and the demon desperate to free itself from her grip. The arm slipped easily from Belle’s chest and began to grow black, crumbling away to nothing in her hand, and it spread up the demon’s writhing, screaming form as Belle watched it disintegrate like burning newspaper in the grate.

The last bit blew away, and with it, the mental façade of her library, until Belle was lying in darkness. She managed to pull a hand to her chest, pressing in and feeling a heartbeat. It was faint, and slow, but it was there.  
  
_We’ve won._

She dropped her hand, succumbing to the exhaustion.

* * *

Whale wiped sweat from his brow, glancing at Igor. “Get Rhys.”


	14. Chapter 14

He’d managed to fall into a fitful kind of nap, but jerked awake at the sound of the parlor door opening.

“Mr. Gold, please come with me.” Igor gave a perfunctory bow and gestured to the open door. “Dr. Whale requests you.”

Rhys struggled out of the chair, groping for his cane, and followed Igor out as quickly as his tired bones would let him.

Pushing into the laboratory, he noted the eerie, imposing silence of the room, the only sound being the light _tap_ of his cane on the stone floor.

“Whale?”

The doctor appeared from around the curtains still surrounding the operating area.

“Gold.” His face was stoic, and he held out a hand to stop Rhys as he moved to climb the stairs.

“How is she? When can I see her?”

Whale hesitated. “Gold.” He closed his eyes, “Rhys, I—“

“When can I see her, Victor.” Tendrils of dread unfurled around Rhys’ heart.

“In a moment, but you need to know—“

“Then it was successful?” His eyes widened. “S-she’s alive? I want to see her.” He tried to push past Whale, but was restrained by a hand on his shoulder. He turned to glare, and saw Igor regarding him with a sad look.

His heart plummeted. “No.”

“Rhys—“

“No, I promised her. I _promised_ her!” He gripped the handle of his cane hard, knuckles popping in his effort to stay upright.

“She’s not dead, Rhys.” Whale grabbed his arms. “Calm down, you’ll break your hand with a grip like that.”

“Then let me see her. Take your hands off me and let me see her.” He glowered at Whale, trying to push him away, but the doctor held firm.

“There are things you need to know first.” He stared at Rhys, felt him shaking, and sighed, releasing his arms. “Fine. You can see her, but you _will_ hear what I have to say, after.” He turned, moving back up to the operating stage, Igor following. “Don’t come around the curtains until I tell you, understood?”

“Yes.” Rhys was vibrating, fear and hope clashing madly in his chest as he waited for Whale to give the signal. He was afraid to think, to breathe. He saw Whale and Igor’s shadows as they moved around, and then one of the curtains was pushed out of the way slightly, Whale standing and blocking any view of Belle.

“Alright. You can come up now.”

Adrenaline jolted through him and his feet carried him of their own volition towards the platform. He barely registered climbing the stairs, and looked up at Whale expectantly.

“Prepare yourself. It’s not the prettiest of sights.” He moved away and Rhys was finally, _finally_ able to see her.

Relief flooded him at first, followed by a hollow foreboding as he moved closer. The sting of medicinal ointments and cleaning solutions hit his nose and made his eyes water. The sheet covering her was white, and her pallor matched. Her dark curls hung in a limp braid off the side of the table and her lashes stood out in sooty relief against her pale cheeks.

He willed her to open her eyes, to pierce him with her bright blue gaze. He’d take anything from her now; anger, love, indifference, anything, so long as she woke up.

“She’s so pale.” He reached a hesitant hand up and gently stroked her cheek with a fingertip. “And she’s barely warm. Why is she only covered in a sheet?”

“She lost a lot of blood. And,” Whale sighed, “we’ll be able to move her to a warmer spot soon, but not just yet.”

“Can she at least have a blanket?” Rhys forced the words out around a knot in his throat, gazing at her face through a blur tears he tried to blink away.

“Yes, of-of course. Igor?”

Rhys looked up as Igor approached with a blanket. “May I?” he asked, holding out a hand.

Igor glanced at Whale before handing the blanket over, as if daring him to say no.

“Thank you.” Rhys gathered the soft material in his hands, and brought it over Belle with gentle reverence. He tugged it up to her chin, smoothing it down and leaning in to brush his knuckles across her cheek. “Wake up, sweetheart.”

“She can’t hear you.” Whale put a comforting hand on his shoulder, pulling Rhys back a bit. “We won’t know until she wakes if the procedure did the job. _If_ she wakes.”

Rhys turned, his face stricken. “What do you mean, _if_?”

“The blood loss will take a toll of its own. And her heart…” Whale produced a worn wooden ear horn and handed it to Rhys. “Listen for yourself.”

Rhys took it, pressing it to the area where Belle’s heart would be. He heard a faint, slow thump, but only just. Relief flooded his veins and he pulled back. “It’s beating.”

“Barely.” Whale took the ear horn back. “And it’s not muffled because of the blankets, trust me.”

“But surely if her heart beats, she’ll live?” Rhys’s brow furrowed. “That’s generally the mark of life, is it not?”

“Generally, yes. But we had to shock her several times, and that takes a toll on the body. Coupled that with the blood loss…” He trailed off. “I’m sorry, Rhys. We’ll make her as comfortable as possible, but you need to prepare for the worst.”

Rhys turned back to Belle, lying there like a porcelain figure, pale and fragile and beautiful. He didn’t want pale and fragile. He wanted fire and spirit, he wanted to see her eyes flash in tumultuous emotion, wanted to hear her laugh at him and his worry and tell him everything would be just fine.

But she lay still. Shallow breaths made her chest rise and fall ever so slightly, keeping her from both life and death.

Rhys found her hand under the fabric and carefully extracted it, pulling it up to press a kiss to the back. “To where will you move her?”

“The guest suite she occupied upstairs.”

He nodded. “May I stay?”

“Rhys,” Whale’s voice was strained. “Of course you can stay, for whatever happens. Igor will prepare you a room.”

“Thank you. Can you dispatch a note to her assistant? He should be here as well.”

“Absolutely. Give me the details when you’re ready and I’ll send for him.” He walked towards the stairs. “I’ll give you a short while, and then we must make arrangements to move her.”

Rhys waited until he heard the laboratory door shut before looking around for something to sit on. He found a stool, and brought it to Belle’s side.

He sat for a moment, just gazing at her, keeping her hand in his, willing her to be alright.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t here, sweetheart.” He knew she probably couldn't hear him, but spoke anyway, hoping some part of her would catch the words and understand. “I was told it was for the best."

He stroked the back of her hand with his thumb, her cool skin warming slightly at his touch. “Are you in pain, wherever you are?” His heart clenched at the idea that she could be silently suffering. “I know unconsciousness was likely, but it was never said if you would be hurting.” Thick tears welled in his eyes and freely rolled down his face. “I don’t want you to suffer for me. If it’s too much and you need—“ He cut off on a sob, taking a shuddering breath before continuing. “If you need to go, it’s alright.”

He stood, leaning in to press a kiss to her forehead. “It’s alright.” He pulled back, taking a last look at her before moving away to fetch Whale, dashing a hand across his cheeks to rid himself of the tear tracks.

As he walked away, he missed the small movement from the table; one lone finger flicked upwards slightly before falling back to the blanket.


	15. Chapter 15

For three long days, Rhys cared for her, determined to do whatever he could to bring her back to him. It stirred memories of her short convalescence in his home, and he almost wished they could go back to then. He remembered her half-medicated, slurred admonition of his lying to the physician about their marital status, and smiled a little. Was that really only a week and a half ago? 

He paused, marveling at the speed life could change in such a short time. He’d gone from being a reclusive, divorced author, still grieving over the loss of his son and shunning the world, to being a nursemaid, to cracking open his battered heart and pouring it into the hands of a tiny, fierce woman, who proceeded to dash away with it. And he was fine with it.

* * *

The first time he saw her incision, he gasped, nearly dropping the fresh bandages he held.

Whale had been there to show him how to properly care for the wound while still maintaining Belle’s modesty, as Rhys had insisted on doing it himself, and gave him a grim smile.

“It looks worse than it is, but it _will_ take a long time to heal, I’m afraid.” The unspoken _if_ hung in the air.

Rhys glared at the black x’s running a long line down the middle of her torso, from her neck down, keeping the thin red incision closed. The stitches and incision disappeared under the blankets covering her to the top of her chest. He could see dark bruising peeking ominously above the sheet, and he shuddered.

“The bruising, while copious, will fade,” Whale said, as if he could read Rhys’ mind. “But she can expect several months, even a year, of recovery. Are you sure you want to be nursemaid for that long?”

Rhys shot him a look.

“I’ll take that as a yes, then.” He said dryly, before taking his leave.

Rhys dressed the wound, double checking his handiwork before sitting carefully next to her on the bed.

She looked so small among the linens and pillows. She’d lost weight, he could see it in the slight gauntness of her cheeks, and he wished he could feed her. He’d argued nose-to-nose with Whale about broth for an hour before Clerk, who’d come at Whale’s hastily scrawled missive, had intervened, physically separating the two of them with Igor’s help.

The robot pushed open the door to Belle’s room the same moment Rhys was mulling over his arrival. “Is there any change in her, Mr. Gold?” He set down a small tea tray and fussed with a cup before handing it to Rhys.

“No, but I’m quite seriously considering ignoring the good doctor’s directive in favor of getting something nutritious down her throat.”

Clerk tilted his head. “I’d imagine it would raise holy rancor if you did, sir.” He shuffled to the opposite side of the bed, tugging the covers a bit higher over Belle. “But I’d be a cheerful accomplice to the crime.”

Rhys laughed at that. Count on the odd little pile of nuts and bolts to bring out a smile. No wonder Belle loved him so much.

“I think I’ll take you up on that, robot.” He stood, grabbing his cane and setting down the teacup. “We’ll have to sneak—“ He stopped at seeing the rapt attention Clerk was paying to Belle’s hand. 

“Clerk? Is something wrong? What are you staring at?”

Clerk pulled his gaze away and looked up to Rhys, pointing a spindly finger at Belle. “She moved.”

“What?” Rhys bolted to the other side of the bed, nearly shoving Clerk out of the way. “She moved? Which part?”

“Her hand, it twitched when you laughed.” 

Hope swelled in Rhys, and he sat on the bed. “Clerk, go fetch Whale, please. Tell him what you saw and bring him back up here.”

The robot bustled out, and Rhys took Belle’s hand, stroking his thumb over the back.

“Belle,” he said in a low voice. “Sweetheart, can you hear me? Are you waking up?”

* * *

Belle was fighting through the heavy darkness, trying to reach the voice she heard calling to her. It was Rhys, she was sure of it.

Murmurs had made it through here and there as she floated in the void, but they’d been faint, like hearing a voice far down a long hallway. But then his laugh had come through, spiking her awareness and renewing her desire to fight back to life.

He was talking more to her now, and she wished she could beg him not to stop. She was following his voice, leading her out of the void and bit by bit she recovered herself.

_“Come back to me, please.”_

She registered the barest pressure against her hand, and sought more of it, trying like hell to move her fingers.

She must have managed something, for she heard him make a joyful sound again and it surged through her, quickening her sluggish heartbeat.

_“Yes, I’m here. Wake up, Belle. Let me see your beautiful eyes.”_

Sensation returned to her slowly, creeping from her hands and feet, up her legs and body until finally, she was able to open her eyes just the barest sliver.

She saw Rhys, sitting with her hand pressed to his mouth, looking at her with such hope and longing, and when he saw she was looking back, tears began spilling down his face

She wanted to hold him, to pull him to her and tell him she was alright, but couldn't make her body cooperate. So she did the only thing she could, and squeezed his hand. It was weak, but she knew he felt it.

He tried to move closer to her, but as soon as he shifted, she became aware of a burning soreness in her chest, and she grimaced.

“What is it, Belle? Is it your chest?”

She managed a nod, and a croaking “Yes”, her voice hoarse from disuse.

“My god, she’s really awake.” She heard the voice of Dr. Whale over the pain, but her eyes stayed glued to Rhys and a rasping whimper escaped her.

“Yes, and she's clearly in pain,” Rhys growled. “Can’t you do something about that?”

She heard the clink of glass and a few seconds later she a gentle hand coax her mouth open, and felt drops of a sweet liquid hit her tongue.

“Swallow, darling. It’s just a bit of laudanum.” 

She did as she was told, the worst edge of the pain fading into a dull throb a few minutes later.

“Better?”

“Much,” she said on a small sigh.

“Good.”

“Welcome back, Belle. You gave us a bit of a scare for awhile.” Whale smiled down at her from the end of the bed. “When you’re up for it, I’ll do a few tests to make sure you’re healing alright. As for now,” he glanced at Rhys, “I think I’d better give you two some privacy. I’ll be just down the hall.”

Belle turned her head to Rhys as Whale left.

“I’m sorry.”

Rhys furrowed his brow, bringing a hand up to stroke her cheek. “For what, sweet girl?”

“Keep… getting into trouble.”

“Yes, but I’m quite good at nursing you now.” He winked, giving her a teasing little smile.

Belle gave a small smile in return, but began to feel drowsy, her eyelids growing heavy, despite the lingering fear that she wouldn't wake back up.

As  if he could sense her trepidation he soothed her, brushing her hair off her forehead and smiling.

“You’ll wake back up, I promise. And I’ll be here when you do.” He leaned in, pressing a lingering kiss to her forehead. “Now, sleep well.”


	16. Chapter 16

_Two years later…_   
  


“Belle Marie Gold, you _will_ sit down and eat or I will tie you to the chair myself.”

Belle halted in her progress to the front door, and turned to regard her husband in exasperation as he bore down on her from the direction of their dining room, the tapping of his cane an echo of his irritation.

“I really can’t, Rhys. I have a meeting with Emma in,” she pulled a pocket watch from her vest, “thirty minutes. I’ll grab something after.”

“No, you’ll have something now. Doctor’s orders, you know that.” He placed a warm hand on the gentle swell of her abdomen. “For both of you.”

She capitulated with a sigh, annoyed at him and their physician. She’d have words with the latter soon enough. “Fine. But you get to dispatch Clerk to tell her I’ll be late.”

He smiled in triumph. “Already done, darling. He left ten minutes ago.” He held out an arm to escort her and she rolled her eyes before taking it.

“I would have been fine for an extra half hour, you know.”

“I don’t care to test that theory, my love. You need to eat, and regularly, you know that. It’s a wonder you haven’t fainted yet.”

She sat in the chair he pulled out for her. “There’s just so much to be done, Rhys.”

“And you’ll accomplish it all, but you won’t risk your health or our child’s to do so.”

She agreed, of course, and so her answering grumble was a goodnatured one, her heart swelling with love for his tender concern for them.

She understood his worry; her traumatic surgery, the possession, the ensuing months of mental and physical healing that dragged her forward and back, one day possessing full strength, with the next leaving her weak as a newborn kitten. It had worn on them both until an equilibrium was established and her healing began moving steadily forward.

He’d brought her back to his home as soon as she was able to safely travel, and she’d been there ever since. She’d discovered a large garden in the back, and took daily walks with him to aid in her recovery. He was terrified of Belle overexerting herself, but she coaxed him into longer and longer walks as the months wore on, until he saw for himself that she was recovering just fine.

He’d proposed in their garden some eight months after her surgery, and it was another two before she was able to lure him into the pretty garden and tumble him under their willow tree. He’d tried to put her off, voicing concern for her health, but she quickly showed him she was fine enough for _that_.

He’d traced her scar reverently as she lay naked in the dappled sunlight; his mouth following his fingers as he murmured endearments and praise against her skin. The once angry red line had faded to pink, standing as a reminder for them both of how close they came to losing everything.

It had been a greater challenge for him to let her back to the library, even though the _Volubilis Tenbris_ had long been burned to ash, and the Basement had been scoured for any more dark entities by the newly-created Watchers. He was content to let Clerk man things for eternity, but Belle had argued fiercely that the Watchers were also installed to protect her as the librarian, and her library _needed_ her.

Belle had found it a wise decision indeed when the council announced that they’d be training a select group of what they’d initially called ‘librarian-warriors’ to seek and eliminate evil entities that housed themselves in the world of books. She had read the announcement letter aloud to Rhys in her former apartment above the library, soon to be their Watcher’s lodgings.

Rhys had snorted at the odd nomenclature, making a snide remark about bespectacled assistants poking their own eyes out with swords at the same moment their permanent Watcher walked in through the apartment door.

Tall, blonde, and clad in an unusual leather jacket and wide-leg trousers, Emma Swan had turned Rhys’ mocking right on its ear, to his chagrin and Belle’s utter delight.

“You really can’t put a hole in a poltergeist, though. Not really solid enough.” She’d winked at him, and Belle had had to bite her lip hard to stifle a fit of laughter at Rhys’ shocked face as Emma stuck out her hand in greeting.

Belle smiled at the memory as she dug heartily into a heaping plate of eggs, rashers and enough fruit to fill a small orchard, or so she felt.

Once finished, she sat back in her chair, humming contentedly and patting her rounded stomach. 

She took a moment to marvel at the bizarre twist her life had taken, the events, both good and bad, dark and light, that led her to this happy life full of purpose and potential. As much as the Tenebrae demon and the surgery had damaged her, she had healed, piece by piece, with her love for Rhys and now her fierce devotion to their child.

Lost in her thoughts, she didn’t quite hear when Rhys called out to her. She raised her eyes to his, smiling at the love she saw reflected there.

“Yes, my love?”

“I merely wanted to know how you’re feeling, sweetheart.” Rhys said, taking her hand where it lay over their child.

“Fine, dearest. Just fine.” 

 

_The End_


End file.
